THE  &BRARY 
OF 
ANGELES 


THE  SKY  PILOT 
IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

RAL  PH   CONNOR 


OF  CAUF.  LJMART.  LOt  AHG1UC9 


BY  RALPH  CONNOR 

THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  No  MAN'S  LAND 

THE  MAJOR 

THE  PATROL  OF  THE  SUN  DANCE  TRAIL 

CORPORAL  CAMERON 

THE  FOREIGNER 

BLACK  ROCK 

THE  SKY  PILOT 

THE  PROSPECTOR 

THE  DOCTOR 

THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY 

GLENGARRY  SCHOOL  DAYS 


THE  SKY  PILOT 
IN  NO  MANS  LAND 


BY 

RALPH  CONNOR 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  MAJOR,"  "THE  SKY  PILOT,"  ETC. 


NEW  XSr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ONLY  A  MISSIONARY 9 

II.  ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL 26 

III.  A  QUESTION  or  CONSCIENCE 37 

IV.  REJECTED 53 

V.  THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS 69 

VI.  THE  MEN  OF  THE  NORTH 85 

VII.  BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS *    95 

VIII.  A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE      .      .      .      .     .      .  116 

IX.  SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS  AND  OTHER  THINGS  .  135 

X.  FRANCE                     ; 154 

XI.  THE  NEW  MESSAGE 169 

XII.  A  MAN  OF  GOD 188 

XIII.  INTENSIVE  TRAINING 207 

XIV.  A  TOUCH  OF  WAR 219 

XV.  THINNING  RANKS •  .  242 

XVI.  THE  PASSING  OF  McCuAic 268 

XVII.  LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS       ....  287 

XVIII.  A  WEDDING  JOURNEY 305 

XIX.  THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT    .     .     .     .     .     .  316 

XX.  "CARRY  ON" .     .  344 


2130077 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 


THE   SKY  PILOT  IN  NO   MAN'S 
LAND 


CHAPTER  I 

ONLY  A    MISSIONARY 

HIGH  upon  a  rock,  poised  like  a  bird  for  flight,  stark 
naked,  his  satin  skin  shining  like  gold  and  silver  in 
the  rising  sun,  stood  a  youth,  tall,  slim  of  body,  not  fully 
developed  but  with  muscles  promising,  in  their  faultless, 
gently  swelling  outline,  strength  and  suppleness  to  an 
unusual  degree.  Gazing  down  into  the  pool  formed  by 
an  eddy  of  the  river  twenty  feet  below  him,  he  stood  as 
if  calculating  the  distance,  his  profile  turned  toward  the 
man  who  had  just  emerged  from  the  bushes  and  was 
standing  on  the  sandy  strand  of  the  river,  paddle  in  hand, 
looking  up  at  him  with  an  expression  of  wonder  and  de- 
light in  his  eyes. 

"Ye  gods,  what  a  picture!"  said  the  man  to  himself. 

Noiselessly,  as  if  fearing  to  send  the  youth  off  in 
flight,  he  laid  his  paddle  on  the  sand,  hurriedly  felt  in 
his  pockets,  and  swore  to  himself  vigorously  when  he 
could  find  no  sketch  book  there. 

"What  a  pose!    What  an  Apollo!"  he  muttered. 

The  sunlight  glistening  on  the  beautiful  white  skin  lay 
like  pools  of  gold  in  the  curving  hollows  of  the  perfectly 
modelled  body,  and  ran  like  silver  over  the  rounded 
swellings  of  the  limbs.  Instinct  with  life  he  seemed, 
something  in  his  pose  suggesting  that  he  had  either  alight- 

9 


10       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

ed  from  the  golden,  ambient  air,  or  was  about  to  commit 
himself  to  it.  The  man  on  the  sand  continued  to  gaze 
as  if  he  were  beholding  a  creature  of  another  world. 

"Oh,  Lord!    What  lines!"  he  breathed. 

Slowly  the  youth  began  to  move  his  arms  up  to  the 
horizontal,  then  to  the  perpendicular,  reaching  to  the  ut- 
most of  his  height  upon  his  toe  tips,  breathing  deep  the 
while.  Smoothly,  slowly,  the  muscles  in  legs  and  thighs, 
in  back,  in  abdomen,  in  chest,  responding  to  the  exercise 
moved  under  the  lustrous  skin  as  if  themselves  were  liv- 
ing things.  Over  and  over  again  the  action  was  repeated, 
the  muscles  and  body  moving  in  rhythmic  harmony  like 
some  perfect  mechanism  running  in  a  bath  of  oil. 

"Ye  gods  of  Greece!"  breathed  the  man.  "What  is 
this  thing  I  see  ?  Flesh  or  spirit  ?  Man  or  god  ?"  Again 
he  swore  at  himself  for  neglecting  to  bring  his  sketch 
book  and  pencil. 

"Hello,  father!  Where  are  you?"  A  girl's  voice  rang 
out,  high,  clear,  and  near  at  hand. 

"Good  Lord !"  said  the  man  to  himself,  glancing  up  at 
the  poised  figure.  "I  must  stop  her." 

One  startled  glance  the  youth  flung  down  upon  him, 
another  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  then,  like  a  white, 
gleaming  arrow  he  shot  down,  and  disappeared  in  the 
dark  pool  below. 

With  his  eyes  upon  the  water  the  man  awaited  his  re- 
appearing. A  half  minute,  a  full  minute  he  waited,  but 
in  vain.  Swiftly  he  ran  toward  the  edge  of  the  pool. 
There  was  no  sign  anywhere  of  the  youth. 

Ghastly  pale  and  panting,  the  man  ran,  as  far  round 
the  base  of  the  rock  as  the  water  would  allow  him,  seek- 
ing everywhere  signs  of  the  swimmer. 

"Hello,  father!  Oh,  there  you  are!"  Breaking 
through  the  bushes,  a  girl  ran  to  him. 

"What  is  it,  pater  ?    You  are  ill.    What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Good  heavens!  he  was  there!"  gasped  the  man,  point- 
ing to  the  high  rock.  "He  plunged  in  there."  He  pointed 
to  the  pool.  "He  hasn't  come  up.  He  is  drowned." 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  11 

"Who?  What  are  you  saying?  Wake  up,  father. 
Who  was  there  ?" 

"A  boy !    A  young  man !    He  disappeared  down  there." 

"A  young  man?  Was  he — was  he — dressed?"  in- 
quired the  girl. 

"Dressed?    No.     No." 

"Did  he — did  he — hear  me — calling?" 

"Of  course  he  did.  That's  what  startled  him,  I  imag- 
ine. Poor  boy !  I  fear  he  is  gone." 

"Did  he  fall  in,  or  did  he  dive?" 

"He  seemed  to  dive,  but  he  has  not  come  up.  I  fear 
he  is  gone." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  father,"  said  the  girl.  "I  bet  you  he 
has  swum  round  the  bend.  Just  go  over  the  rock  and 
see." 

"God  grant  it!"  said  her  father. 

He  dropped  his  paddle,  ran  up  over  the  rock  and  down 
into  the  little  dell  on  the  other  side  that  ran  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  There  he  saw  a  tent,  with  all  the  ac- 
companiments of  a  well  ordered  camp,  and  a  man  cook- 
ing breakfast  on  a  small  fire. 

"Well,  I'll  be  combusticated !"  he  said  to  himself,  weak- 
ly holding  to  a  little  poplar  tree. 

"I  say!"  he  cried,  "where  is  he?  Has  he  come  in?  Is 
he  all  right?" 

"Who?"  said  the  man  at  the  fire. 

"The  boy  on  the  rock." 

The  man  gazed  at  him  astonished,  then  as  if  suddenly 
grasping  his  meaning,  replied, 

"Yes,  he  came  in.    He's  dressing  in  the  tent." 

"Well,  I'll  be  condumbusticated !"  said  the  man.  "Say! 
what  the  devil  does  he  mean  by  scaring  people  out  of 
their  senses  in  that  way!" 

The  man  at  the  fire  stood  gazing  at  him  in  an  utterly 
bewildered  way. 

"If  you  will  tell  me  exactly  what  you  are  after,  I  may 
be  able  to  help  you." 


12       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

The  other  drew  slowly  near  the  fire.  He  was  still 
pale,  and  breathing  quickly. 

"Hello,  dad,  is  breakfast  ready?"  came  a  cheery  voice 
from  the  tent. 

"Thank  God,  he  is  alive  apparently,"  said  the  man, 
sinking  down  on  a  log  beside  >  the  fire.  "You  must  par- 
don me,  sir,"  he  said.  "You  see,  I  saw  him  take  a  header 
into  the  pool  from  that  high  rock  over  yonder,  and  he 
never  came  up  again.  I  thought  he  was  drowned." 

The  man  at  the  fire  smiled. 

"The  young  villain  gave  you  a  fright,  did  he?  One 
of  his  usual  tricks.  Well,  as  his  father,  and  more  or  less 
responsible  for  him,  I  offer  the  most  humble  apology. 
Have  you  had  breakfast?" 

"Yes.    But  why  did  he  do  such  a  thing?" 

"Ask  him.    Here  he  comes." 

Out  from  the  tent  came  the  youth  in  shorts,  the  warm 
glow  of  his  body  showing  through  the  filmy  material. 

"Hello!"  he  cried,  backing  toward  the  tent  door. 
"You  are  the  man  with  the  paddle.  Is  there  by  any 
chance  a  lady  with  you,  or  did  I  hear  a  lady's  voice  over 
there?  I  assure  you  I  got  a  deuce  of  a  fright." 

"You  gave  me  the  supreme  fright  of  my  life,  young 
man,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"But  I  surely  heard  a  lady's  voice,"  said  the  youth. 

"You  did.  It  was  my  daughter's  voice,  and  it  was  she 
who  suggested  that  you  had  swum  around  the  bend. 
And  she  sent  me  over  here  to  investigate.'' 

"Oh,  your  daughter.  Excuse  me,"  said  the  youth.  "I 
shall  be  out  in  a  few  minutes."  He  slid  into  the  tent, 
and  did  not  reappear. 

The  man  remained  chatting  with  the  youth's  father 
for  a  few  minutes,  then  rising  said, 

"Well,  I  feel  better.  I  confess  this  thing  gave  me 
something  of  a  shock.  But  come  round  and  see  us  before 
we  go.  We  shall  be  leaving  in  an  hour." 

The  man  at  the  fire  promised  to  make  the  visit,  and 
the  other  took  his  departure. 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  13 

A  few  minutes  later  the  youth  reappeared. 

"Is  breakfast  ready?"  he  cried.  "My,  but  I'm  hun- 
gry !  But  who  is  he,  dad  ?" 

"Sit  down,"  said  his  father,  "and  get  your  breakfast 
while  it  is  hot." 

"But  who  is  he,  dad  ?"  persisted  the  youth. 

"Who  is  he?"  said  his  father,  dishing  up  the  bacon. 
"An  oil  explorer,  an  artist,  a  capitalist,  an  American  from 
Pittsburgh,  the  father  of  one  child,  a  girl.  Her  mother 
is  dead.  Nineteen  years  old,  athletic,  modern  type,  col- 
lege bred,  'boss  of  the  show'  (quotation).  These  are  a 
few  of  the  facts  volunteered  within  the  limited  space  of 
his  visit." 

"What's  he  like,  dad?" 

"Like?     Like  an  American." 

"Now,  dad,  don't  allow  your  old  British  prejudices  to 
run  away  with  your  judgment." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  perfectly  charmed.  He  is  one 
of  those  Americans  who  capture  you  at  once,  educated, 
frank,  open,  with  that  peculiar  charm  that  Britishers 
will  not  be  able  to  develop  for  many  generations.  An 
American,  but  not  of  the  unspeakable  type.  Not  at  all. 
You  will  like  him." 

"I  am  sure  I  shall,"  replied  the  youth.  "I  liked  his 
voice  and  his  face.  I  like  the  Americans.  I  met  such 
nice  chaps  at  college.  So  clever,  and  with  such  a  vo- 
cabulary." 

"Vocabulary  ?  Well,  I'm  not  too  sure  as  to  the  vocab- 
ulary part  of  it." 

"Yes,  such  bright,  pat,  expressive  slang,  so  fresh  and 
in  such  variety.  So  different  from  your  heavy  British 
slang,  in  which  everything  approaching  the  superlative 
must  be  one  of  three  things,  'ripping/  with  very  distinct 
articulation  on  the  double  p,  or  'top  hole,'  or  'awfully 
jolly.'  More  recently,  I  believe,  a  fourth  variation  is  al- 
lowed in  'priceless.' ' 

"Ah,  my  boy,  you  have  unconsciously  uttered  a  most 
searching  criticism  on  your  American  friends.  Don't 


14       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

you  know  that  a  vocabulary  rich  in  slang  is  poverty 
stricken  in  forceful  and  well  chosen  English?  The  wealth 
of  the  one  is  the  poverty  of  the  other." 
"Where  is  he  going?"  enquired  the  boy. 
"Out  by  way  of  Edmonton,  Calgary,  Moose  Jaw,  Min- 
neapolis, so  on  to  Pittsburgh.  Partner  with  him,  young 
lawyer,  expert  in  mines,  unmarried.  He  is  coming  back 
in  a  couple  of  months  or  so  for  a  big  hunt.  Wants  us  to 
join  him.  Really  extraordinary,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  how  much  information  he  was  able  to  convey  in 
such  a  short  space  of  time.  Marvellous  gift  of  expres- 
sion!" 

"What  did  you  say,  dad?" 

"Say?  Oh,  as  to  his  invitation!  Why,  I  believe  I  ac- 
cepted, my  boy.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  do  nothing  else. 
It's  a  way  he  has." 

"Is — is  the  daughter  to  be  along?" 
"Let  me  see.    What  did  he  say?    Really,  I  don't  know. 
But  I  should  judge  that  it  would  be  entirely  as  she 

wished.     She  is " 

"Boss  of  the  show,  eh?" 
"Exactly.    Most  vivid  phrase,  eh?" 
"Very.    And  no  doubt  aptly  descriptive  of  the  fact." 
In  half  an  hour  the  breakfast  was  finished,  and  the 
elder  man  got  his  pipe  a-going. 

"Now,  dad,  you  had  better  go  along  and  make  your 
call,  while  I  get  things  together  here." 

"What!  You  not  going!  No,  no,  that  won't  do,  my 
boy.  It  was  about  you  they  were  concerned.  You  were 
the  occasion  of  the  acquaintanceship.  Besides,  meeting 
in  the  wilderness  this  way  we  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know." 

"Well,  dad,  frankly,  I  am  quite  terrified  of  the  young 
lady.  Suppose  she  should  start  bossing  us.  We  should 
both  be  quite  helpless." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  boy!    Come  along.    Get  your  hat." 
"All  right,  I'll  come.     On  your  head  be  the  conse- 
quences, dad.     No,  I  don't  need  a  hat.     Fortunately  I 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  15 

put  on  a  clean  shirt.  Will  I  do,  dad?  You  know  I'm 
'scairt  stiff,'  as  Harry  Hobbs  would  say." 

His  father  looked  him  over,  but  there  was  nothing 
critical  in  his  glance.  Pride  and  love  filled  his  eyes  as 
they  ran  over  his  son's  face  and  figure.  And  small  won- 
der! The  youth  was  good  to  look  upon.  A  shade  under 
six  feet  he  stood,  straight  and  slim,  strength  and  supple 
grace  in  every  move  of  his  body.  His  face  was  beauti- 
ful with  the  beauty  of  features,  clean  cut  and  strong, 
but  more  with  the  beauty  of  a  clear,  candid  soul.  He 
seemed  to  radiate  an  atmosphere  of  cheery  good  nature 
and  unspoiled  simplicity.  He  was  two  years  past  his 
majority,  yet  he  carried  the  air  of  a  youth  of  eighteen, 
in  which  shyness  and  fearlessness  looked  out  from  his 
deep  blue  eyes.  It  was  well  that  he  wore  no  hat  to  hide 
the  mass  of  rich  brown  hair  that  waved  back  from  his 
forehead. 

"You'll  do,  boy,"  said  his  father,  in  a  voice  whose 
rigid  evenness  of  tone  revealed  the  emotion  it  sought  to 
conceal.  "You'll  take  all  the  shine  from  me,  you  young 
beggar,"  he  added  in  a  tone  of  gruff  banter,  "but  there 
was  a  time " 

'Was  a  time,  dad?  Is,  and  don't  tell  me  you  don't 
know  it.  I  always  feel  like  a  school  kid  in  any  company 
when  you're  about. 

'When  the  sun  comes  out 
All  the  little  stars  run  in,'  " 

he  sang  from  a  late  music  hall  effusion.  "Why,  just 
come  here  and  look  at  yourself,"  and  the  boy's  eyes  dwelt 
with  affectionate  pride  upon  his  father. 

It  was  easy  to  see  where  the  boy  got  his  perfect  form. 
Not  so  tall  as  his  son,  he  was  more  firmly  knit,  and  with 
a  kind  of  dainty  neatness  in  his  appearance  which  sug- 
gested the  beau  in  earlier  days.  But  there  was  nothing 
of  weakness  about  the  erect,  trim  figure.  A  second 
glance  discovered  a  depth  of  chest,  a  thickness  of  shoul- 


der  and  of  thigh,  and  a  general  development  of  muscle 
such  as  a  ring  champion  might  show ;  and,  indeed,  it  was 
his  achievements  in  the  ring  rather  than  in  the  class  lists 
that  won  for  Dick  Dunbar  in  his  college  days  his  high- 
est fame.  And  though  his  fifty  years  had  slowed  some- 
what the  speed  of  foot  and  hand,  the  eye  was  as  sure  as 
ever,  and  but  little  of  the  natural  force  was  abated  which 
once  had  made  him  the  glory  of  the  Cambridge  sporting 
youth,  and  which  even  yet  could  test  his  son's  mettle 
in  a  fast  bout 

On  the  sandy  shore  of  the  river  below  the  eddy,  they 
found  the  American  and  his  party  gathered,  with  their 
stuff  ranged  about  them  ready  for  the  canoes. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  American,  advancing 
hat  in  hand.  "And  this  is  your  son,  the  young  rascal 
who  came  mighty  near  giving  me  heart  failure  this  morn- 
ing. By  the  way,  I  haven't  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
your  name." 

"My  name  is  Richard  Dunbar,  and  this  is  my  son 
Barry." 

"My  name  is  Osborne  Rowland,  of  Pittsburgh,  and 
this  is  my  daughter  Paula.  In  bloomers,  as  you  see,  but 
nevertheless  my  daughter.  Meet  also  my  friend  and 
partner,  Mr.  Cornwall  Brand." 

The  party  exchanged  greetings,  and  spent  some  mo- 
ments giving  utterance  to  those  platitudes  which  are  so 
useful  in  such  circumstances,  a  sort  of  mental  marking 
time  preparatory  to  further  mutual  acquaintance. 

The  girl  possessed  that  striking,  dashing  kind  of  bru- 
nette beauty  that  goes  with  good  health,  good  living,  and 
abundance  of  outdoor  exercise.  She  carried  herself  with 
that  air  of  assured  self-confidence  that  comes  as  the  re- 
sult of  a  somewhat  wide  experience  of  men,  women  and 
things.  She  quite  evidently  scorned  the  conventions,  as 
her  garb,  being  quite  masculine,  her  speech  being  out- 
spoken and  decorated  with  the  newest  and  most  ingeni- 
ous slang,  her  whole  manner  being  frankly  impulsive, 
loudly  proclaimed. 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  17 

But  Barry  liked  her  at  once,  and  made  no  pretence  of 
concealing  his  liking.  To  her  father,  also,  he  was  im- 
mediately drawn.  As  to  Cornwall  Brand,  between  whom 
and  the  girl  there  seemed  to  exist  a  sort  of  understanding, 
he  was  not  so  sure. 

For  half  an  hour  or  so  they  stood  by  the  river  exchang- 
ing their  experiences  in  these  northern  wilds,  and  their 
views  upon  life  in  the  wilderness  and  upon  things  in 
general.  By  a  little  skilful  managing  the  girl  got  the 
young  man  away  from  the  others,  and  then  proceeded  to 
dissect  and  classify  him. 

Through  the  open  woods  along  the  river  bank  they 
wandered,  pausing  here  and  there  to  admire  the  view, 
until  they  came  to  an  overhanging  bank  at  the  entrance 
to  a  somewhat  deep  gorge,  through  which  the  river 
foamed  to  the  boiling  rapids  below.  It  was  indeed  a 
beautiful  scene.  The  banks  of  the  river  were  covered 
with  every  variety  of  shrub  and  tree,  except  where  the 
black  rocks  broke  through;  between  the  banks  the  dark 
river  raged  and  fretted  itself  into  a  foam  against  its 
rocky  barriers ;  over  them  arched  the  sky,  a  perfect  blue. 

"What  a  lovely  view !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  seating  her- 
self upon  the  edge  of  the  bank.  "Now,"  she  said,  "tell 
me  about  yourself.  You  gave  my  pater  a  fearful  fright 
this  morning.  He  was  quite  paralysed  when  I  came  on 
him." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  youth,  "but  I  had  no  in- 
tention  " 

"I  know.  I  told  him  not  to  worry,"  replied  the  girl. 
"I  knew  you  would  be  all  right." 

"And  how,  pray?"  said  the  young  man,  blushing  at 
the  memory  of  his  startling  appearance  upon  that  rock. 

"I  knew  that  any  fellow  who  could  take  that  dive 
wouldn't  likely  let  himself  drown.  I  guessed,  too,  that  if 
you  heard  me  hoot " 

"I  did,"  said  the  youth. 

"You  sure  would  get  slippy  right  away." 

"I  did." 


18       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  guess  you  were  pretty  well  startled  yourself,  weren't 
you?"  said  the  girl,  pursuing  the  subject  with  cool  per- 
sistence. 

"Rather,"  said  the  young  man,  blushing  more  violently, 
and  wishing  she  would  change  the  subject.  "You  are 
going  out?"  he  enquired. 

"Yes." 

"To-day?" 

"Now — right  away." 

"Too  bad,"  he  said,  his  disappointment  evident  in  his 
tone. 

"When  are  you  going  out?  But  who  are  you,  any- 
way?" asked  the  girl.  "You  have  to  tell  me  that." 

"My  life  story,  so  to  speak?" 

She  nodded. 

"It's  very  short  and  simple,  like  the  annals  of  the 
poor,"  he  replied.  "From  England  in  infancy,  on  a 
ranch  in  northern  Alberta  for  ten  years,  a  puny  little 
wretch  I  was,  terribly  bothered  with  asthma,  then" — the 
boy  hesitated  a  moment — "my  mother  died,  father  moved 
to  Edmonton,  lived  there  for  five  years,  thence  to  Wapiti, 
away  northwest  of  Edmonton,  our  present  home,  pre- 
pared for  college  by  my  father,  university  course  in  Win- 
nipeg, graduated  in  theology  a  year  ago,  now  the  mis- 
sionary in  charge  of  Wapiti  and  the  surrounding  dis- 
trict."' 

"A  preacher!"  said  the  girl,  her  face  and  her  tone 
showing  her  disappointment  only  too  plainly. 

"Not  much  of  a  preacher,  I  fear,"  said  the  young  man 
with  a  smile.    "A  missionary,  rather.    That's  my  story." 
She  noticed  with  some  chagrin  that  he  did  not  ask 
for  hers. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  she  enquired. 
He  hesitated  a  moment  or  two. 

"Dad  and  I  always  take  a  trip  into  the  wilds  every 
summer."    Then  he  added  after  a  few  moments'  pause, 
"But  of  course  we  have  other  business  on  hand  up  here." 
"Business?    Up  here?" 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  19 

"Yes.  Dad  has  some."  He  made  as  if  to  continue, 
it  changed  his  mind  and  fell  into  silence,  leaving  her 
piqued  by  his  reserve  and  by  his  apparent  indifference 
to  the  things  concerning  herself.  She  did  not  know  that 
he  was  eagerly  hoping  that  she  would  supply  this  infor- 
mation. 

At  length  he  ventured,  "Must  you  go  away  to-day?" 

"I  don't  suppose  there's  any  'must'  about  it." 

"Why  not  stay?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Oh,  it  would  be  jolly,"  he  cried.  "You  see,  we 
could — explore  about  here — and," — he  ended  rather 
lamely, — "it's  a  lovely  country." 

"We've  seen  a  lot  of  it.  It  is  lovely,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  upon  his  face  as  if  appraising  him.  "I  should  like 
to  know  you  better,"  she  added,  with  sudden  and 
characteristic  frankness,  "so  I  think  we  will  stay.  But 
you  will  have  to  be  awfully  good  to  me." 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  cried.  "That's  splendid!  Per- 
fectly jolly!" 

"Then  we  had  better  find  father  and  tell  him.  Come 
along,"  she  ordered,  and  led  the  way  back  to  the  camp. 

The  young  man  followed  her,  wondering  at  her,  and 
giving  slight  heed  to  the  chatter  she  flung  over  her  shoul- 
der at  him  as  she  strode  along  through  the  bushes. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  she  cried,  facing  round 
upon  him.  "You  were  thinking  about  me,  I  know.  Con- 
fess, now." 

"I  was,"  he  acknowledged,  smiling  at  her. 

"What  were  you  thinking?    Tell  me,"  she  insisted. 

"I  was  thinking "    He  paused. 

"Go  on!"  she  cried. 

"I  was  thinking  of  what  your  father  said  about  you." 

"My  father?  About  me?  What  did  he  say?  To 
you?" 

"No.    To  dad." 

"What  was  it?     Tell  me.     I  must  know."     She  was 


20       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

very  imperious  in  her  manner.  The  youth  only  smiled  at 
her. 

"Go  on!"  she  said  impatiently. 

"I  think  possibly  your  father  was  right,"  he  replied, 
"when  he  said  you  'boss  the  show/ ' 

"Oh,  that's  what  he  said,  eh  ?  Well,  I  guess  he's  about 
right." 

"But  you  don't  really?" 

"Don't  what?  'Boss  the  show'?  Well,  I  boss  my 
own  show,  at  any  rate.  Don't  you?" 

"Don't  I  what,  exactly?  Boss  the  show?  Well,  I 
don't  think  we  have  any  'show/  and  I  don't  believe  we 
have  any  'boss/  Dad  and  I  just  talk  things  over,  you 
see." 

"But,"  she  insisted,  "some  one  in  the  last  analysis  must 
decide.  Your  menage,  no  matter  how  simple,  must  have 
a  head.  It  is  a  law  of  the  universe  itself,  and  it  is  the 
law  of  mankind.  You  see,  I  have  done  some  political 
economy." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  young  man,  "you  say  you  run 
your  own  show  ?" 

"Exactly.  Every  social  organism  must  have  a  head, 
but  every  individual  in  the  organism  must  live  its  own 
free  life.  That  is  true  democracy.  But  of  course  you 
don't  understand  democracy,  you  Canadians." 

"Aha !  There  you;  are !  You  Americans  are  the  most 
insular  of  all  the  great  peoples  of  the  world.  You  know 
nothing  of  other  people.  You  know  only  your  own  his- 
tory and  not  even  that  correctly,  your  own  geography, 
and  your  own  political  science.  You  know  nothing  of 
Canada.  You  don't  know,  for  instance,  that  the  purest 
form  of  democracy  on  this  American  continent  lies  out- 
side the  bounds  of  the  U.  S.  A." 

"In  Canada?"  she  asked  scornfully.  "By  the  way, 
how  many  Canadians  are  there?" 

"Yes,  I  know.  We  are  a  small  people,"  he  said  quietly, 
"but  no  more  real  democracy  exists  anywhere  in  the 
world  than  in  this  country  of  mine.  We  are  a  small 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  21 

people,  but,"  he  said,  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  toward 
the  west  and  the  north,  "the  future  is  with  us.  The  day 
is  coming  when  along  this  waterway  great  cities  shall 
be,  with  factories  and  humming  industries.  These  plains, 
these  flowing  hills  will  be  the  home  of  millions  of  men, 
and  in  my  lifetime,  too." 

His  eyes  began  to  glow,  his  face  to  shine  with  a  rare 
and  fascinating  beauty. 

"Do  you  know  the  statistics  of  your  country?  Do  you 
know  that  during  the  last  twenty  years  the  rate  of  Can- 
ada's growth  was  three  times  greater  than  ever  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  United  States?  You  are  a  great  commer- 
cial nation,  but  do  you  know  that  the  per  capita  rate  of 
Canada's  trade  to-day  is  many  times  that  of  the  United 
States?  You  are  a  great  agricultural  people,  but  do  you 
know  that  three-quarters  of  the  wheat  land  on  this  conti- 
nent is  Canadian,  and  that  before  many  years  you  will  be 
coming  to  Canada  for  your  wheat,  yes,  and  for  your 
flour?  Do  you  see  that  river?  Do  you  know  that  Can- 
ada is  the  richest  country  in  the  world  in  water  power? 
And  more  than  that,  in  the  things  essential  to  national 
greatness, — not  these  things  that  you  can  see,  these  ma- 
terial things,"  he  said,  sweeping  his  hand  contemptu- 
ously toward  the  horizon,  "but  in  such  things  as  educa- 
tional standards,  in  administration  of  justice,  in  the  cus- 
toms of  a  liberty  loving  people,  in  religious  privileges,  in 
everything  that  goes  to  make  character  and  morale,  Can- 
ada has  already  laid  the  foundations  of  a  great  nation." 

He  stopped  short,  abashed,  the  glow  fading  from  his 
face,  the  light  from  his  eyes. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "I  am  a 
first  class  ass.  I  fear  I  was  blowing  like  a  fog  horn.  But 
when  you  touch  Canada  you  release  something  in  me." 

While  he  was  speaking  her  eyes  never  left  his  face. 
"Go  on !"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  emotion,  "go 
on.  I  love  to  hear  you." 

Her  wonted  poise  was  gone ;  she  was  obviously  stirred 
with  deep  emotion. 


22       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Go  on!"  she  commanded,  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
arm.  "Don't  stop.  Tell  me  more  about — about  Canada, 
about  anything,"  she  added  impatiently. 

A  warm,  eager  light  filled  her  eyes.  She  was  biting 
her  lips  to  still  their  tremor. 

"There's  plenty  to  tell  about  Canada,"  he  said,  "but 
not  now.  What  started  me?  Oh,  democracy.  Yes,  it 
was  you  that  began  it.  Democracy?  After  all,  it  is 
worth  while  that  the  people  who  are  one  day  to  fill  this 
wide  land  should  be  truly  democratic,  truly  free,  and 
truly  great." 

Once  more  the  light  began  to  burn  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  face. 

"Ah,  to  have  a  hand  in  that !" 

"And  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "you  with  all 
that  in  you,  are  only  a  preacher." 

"A  missionary,"  he  corrected. 

"Well,  a  missionary.    Only  a  missionary." 

Disappointment  and  scorn  were  all  too  evident  in  her 
voice. 

"Only  a  missionary.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  be  one.  A 
missionary !  With  a  mission  and  a  message  to  my  peo- 
ple! If  only  I  had  the  gift  of  tongues,  of  flaming,  burn- 
ing, illuminating  speech,  of  heart-compelling  speech !  To 
tell  my  people  how  to  make  this  country  truly  great  and 
truly  free,  how  to  keep  it  free  from  the  sordid  things, 
the  cruel  things,  the  unjust,  the  unclean,  the  loathsome 
things  that  have  debased  and  degraded  the  older  nations, 
that  are  debasing  and  degrading  even  your  young,  great 
nation.  .Ah,  to  be  a  missionary  with  a  tongue  of  fire, 
with  a  message  of  light!  A  missionary  to  my  people  to 
help  them  to  high  and  worthy  living,  to  help  them  to 
God!  Only  a  missionary!  What  would  you  have  me? 
A  money-maker?" 

He  turned  swiftly  upon  her,  a  magnetic,  compelling 
personality.  From  the  furious  scorn  in  his  voice  and  in 
his  flaming  face  she  visibly  shrank,  almost  as  if  he  had 
struck  her. 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  23 

"No!"  she  breathed.  "Nothing  else.  Only  a  mis- 
sionary." 

Silent  she  stood,  as  if  still  under  the  spell  of  his  words, 
her  eyes  devouring  his  face. 

"How  your  mother  would  have  loved  you,  would  have 
been  proud  of  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "Is — is  there 
no  one  else  to — to  rejoice  in  you?"  she  asked  shyly,  but 
eagerly. 

He  laughed  aloud.     "There's  dad,  dear  old  dad." 

"And  no  one  else?"  Still  with  shy,  eager  eyes  she 
held  him. 

"Oh,  heaps,"  he  cried,  still  laughing. 

She  smiled  upon  him,  a  slightly  uncertain  smile,  and 
yet  as  if  his  answer  somehow  satisfied  her. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  impulsively,  offering  her  hand. 

"But  you  are  not  going!  You're  staying  a  few  days!" 
he  gasped. 

"No,  we're  going.  We're  going  right  away.  Good- 
bye," she  said.  "I  don't  want  those  others  to  see.  Good- 
bye. Oh,  it's  been  a  wonderful  morning!  And, — and — 
a  friend  is  a  wonderful  discovery." 

Her  hand  held  his  in  a  strong,  warm  grasp,  but  her 
eyes  searched  his  face  as  if  seeking  something  she  greatly 
desired. 

"Good-bye.  I  am  sorry  you  are  going,"  he  said,  sim- 
ply. "I  want  to  know  you  better." 

"Do  you?"  she  cried,  with  r.  sudden  eagerness  in  her 
voice  and  manner.  Then,  "No.  You  would  be  disap- 
pointed. I  am  not  of  your  world.  But  you  shall  see  me 
again,"  she  added,  as  if  taking  a  new  resolve.  "We  are 
coming  back  on  a  big  hunt,  and  you  and  your  father 
are  to  join  us.  Won't  you?" 

"Dad  said  we  should,"  said  the  youth,  smiling  at  the 
remembrance. 

"And  you?"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"If  things  can  so  arrange  themselves — my  work,  I 
mean,  and  dad's." 

"But,  do  you  want  to?    Do  you  really  want  to?"  she 


24       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

asked.  "I  wish  I  knew.  I  hate  not  to  understand  peo- 
ple. You  are  hard  to  know.  I  don't  know  you.  But  you 
will  come?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  young  man.  "Of  course  a  fel- 
low's work  comes  first,  you  know." 

"Work?"  she  cried.  "Your  work?  Oh,  your  mis- 
sionary work.  Oh,  yes,  yes.  I  should  like  to  see  you  at 
it.  Come,  let  us  go." 

Mr.  Cornwall  Brand  they  found  in  a  fever  of  impa- 
tience. He  had  the  trip  scheduled  to  a  time  table,  and  he 
hated  to  be  forced  to  change  his  plans.  His  impatience 
showed  itself  in  snappy  commands  and  inquiries  to  his 
Indian  guides,  who,  however,  merely  grunted  replies. 
They  knew  their  job  and  did  it  without  command  or 
advice,  and  with  complete  indifference  to  anything  the 
white  man  might  have  to  say.  To  Paula  the  only  change 
in  his  manner  was  an  excess  of  politeness. 

Her  father,  however,  met  her  with  remonstrances. 

"Why,  Paula,  my  dear,  you  have  kept  us  waiting." 

"What's  the  rush,  pater?"  she  enquired,  coolly. 

"Why,  my  dear,  we  are  already  behind  our  schedule, 
and  you  know  Cornwall  hates  that,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Cornwall!"  said  Paula,  in  a  loud  voice  of  unmistak- 
able ill  temper.  "Does  Cornwall  run  this  outfit  ?" 

"My  dear  Paula !"  again  remonstrated  her  father. 

She  turned  to  him  impatiently,  with  an  angry  word 
at  her  lips,  caught  upon  Barry's  face  a  look  of  surprise, 
paused  midway  in  her  passion,  then  moved  slowly  toward 
him. 

"Well,"  she  asked,  in  an  even,  cold  voice,  "what  do 
you  think  about  it  ?  And  anyway,"  she  dropped  her  voice 
so  that  none  heard  but  himself,  "why  should  you  halt 
me?  Who  are  you,  to  give  me  pause  this  way?" 

"Only  a  missionary,"  he  answered,  in  an  equally  low 
tone,  but  with  a  smile  gentle,  almost  wistful  on  his  face. 

As  with  a  flash  the  wrathful  cloud  vanished. 


ONLY  A  MISSIONARY  25 

"A  missionary,"  she  replied  softly.  "God  knows  I 
need  one." 

"You  do,"  he  said  emphatically,  and  still  he  smiled. 

"Come,  Paula,"  called  Cornwall  Brand.  "We  are  all 
waiting." 

Her  face  hardened  at  his  words. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  to  Barry.  "I  am  coming  back 
again  to — to  your  wonderful  Canada." 

"Of  course  you  are,"  said  Barry,  heartily.  "They  all 
do." 

He  went  with  her  to  the  canoe,  steadied  her  as  she 
took  her  place,  and  stood  watching  till  the  bend  in  the 
river  shut  them  from  view. 

"Nice  people,"  said  his  father.    "Very  fine,  jolly  girl." 

"Yes,  isn't  she?"  replied  his  son. 

"Handsome,  too,"  said  his  father,  glancing  keenly  at 
him. 

"Is  she?  Yes,  I  think  so.  Yes,  indeed,  very,"  he 
added,  as  if  pondering  the  matter.  "When  do  we  move, 
dad?" 

A  look  of  relief  crossed  the  father's  face. 

"This  afternoon,  I  think.  We  have  only  a  few  days 
now.  We  shall  run  up  Buffalo  Creek  into  the  Foothills 
for  some  trout.  It  will  be  a  little  stiff,  but  you  are  fit 
enough  now,  aren't  you,  Barry?"  His  voice  was  tinged 
with  anxiety. 

"Fit  for  anything,  dad,  thanks  to  you." 

"Not  to  me,  Barry.     To  yourself  largely." 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  throwing  his  arm  round  his  fa- 
ther's shoulder,  "thanks  to  you,  dear  old  dad, — and  to 
God." 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL 

ON  the  Red  Pine  trail  two  men  were  driving  in  a 
buckboard  drawn  by  a  pair  of  half-broken  pinto 
bronchos.  The  outfit  was  a  rather  ramshackle  affair, 
and  the  driver  was  like  his  outfit.  Stewart  Duff  was  a 
rancher,  once  a  "remittance  man,"  but  since  his  mar- 
riage three  years  ago  he  had  learned  self-reliance  and 
was  disciplining  himself  in  self-restraint.  A  big,  lean 
man  he  was,  his  thick  shoulders  and  large,  hairy  muscu- 
lar hands  suggesting  great  physical  strength,  his  swarthy 
face,  heavy  features,  coarse  black  hair,  keen  dark  eyes, 
deepset  under  shaggy  brows,  suggesting  force  of  char- 
acter with  a  possibility  of  brutality  in  passion.  Yet  when 
he  smiled  his  heavy  face  was  not  unkindly,  indeed  the 
smile  gave  it  a  kind  of  rugged  attractiveness.  He  was 
past  his  first  youth,  and  on  his  face  were  the  marks  of 
the  stormy  way  by  which  he  had  come. 

He  drove  his  jibing  bronchos  with  steady  hands.  No 
light  touch  was  his  upon  the  reins,  and  the  bronchos' 
wild  plunging  met  with  a  check  from  those  muscular 
hands  of  such  iron  rigidity  as  to  fling  them  back  helpless 
and  amazed  upon  their  hocks. 

His  companion  was  his  opposite  in  physical  appear- 
ance, and  in  those  features  and  lines  that  so  unmistakably 
reveal  the  nature  and  character  within.  Short  and  stout, 
inclined  indeed  to  fat,  to  his  great  distress,  his  thick-set 
figure  indicated  strength  without  agility,  solidity  with- 
out resilience.  He  had  a  pleasant,  open  face,  with  a 
kindly,  twinkling  blue  eye  that  goes  with  a  merry  heart, 
with  a  genial,  sunny  soul.  But  there  was  in  the  blue  eye 
ind  in  the  open  face,  for  all  the  twinkles  and  the  smiles, 

26 


ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL  27 

a  certain  alert  shrewdness  that  proclaimed  the  keen  man 
of  business,  and  in  the  clean  cut  lips  lay  the  suggestion 
of  resolute  strength.  A  likable  man  he  was,  with  an 
infinite  capacity  for  humour,  but  with  a  bedrock  of  un- 
yielding determination  in  him  that  always  surprised  those 
who  judged  him  lightly. 

The  men  were  friends,  and  had  been  comrades  more 
or  less  during  those  pioneer  days  that  followed  their 
arrival  in  the  country  from  Scotland  some  dozen  years 
ago.  Often  they  had  fallen  out  with  each  other,  for 
Duff  was  stormy  of  temper  and  had  a  habit  of  letting 
himself  swing  out  upon  its  gusts  of  passion,  reckless  of 
consequences;  but  he  was  ever  the  one  to  offer  amends 
and  to  seek  renewal  of  good  relations.  He  had  few 
friends,  and  so  he  clung  the  more  closely  to  those  he 
had.  At  such  times  the  other  would  wait  in  cool,  good- 
tempered  but  determined  aloofness  for  his  friend's 
return. 

"You  can  chew  your  cud  till  you're  cool  again,"  he 
would  say  when  the  outbreak  would  arise.  But  inva- 
riably their  differences  were  composed  and  their  friend- 
ship remained  unbroken. 

The  men  sat  in  the  buckboard,  leaning  forward  with 
hunched  shoulders,  swaying  easily  to  the  pitching  of  the 
vehicle  as  it  rattled  along  the  trail  which,  especially  where 
it  passed  over  the  round  topped  ridges,  was  thickly  strewn 
with  stones.  Before  them,  now  on  the  trail  and  now 
ranging  wide  over  the  prairie,  ran  a  beautiful  black  and 
white  English  setter. 

"Great  dog  that,  Sandy,"  said  Duff.  "I  could  have 
had,  a  dozen  birds  this  afternoon.  A  wonderful  nose, 
ana  steady  as  a  rock." 

"A  good  dog,  Stewart,"  assented  Sandy,  but  with 
slight  interest. 

"There  ain't  another  like  him  in  this  western  coun- 
try," said  the  owner  of  the  dog  with  emphasis. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that.  There  are  some  very 
good  dogs  around  here,  Stewart,"  replied  Sandy  lightly. 


28       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"But  I  know.  And  that's  why  I'm  saying  there  ain't 
his  like  in  this  western  country,  and  that's  as  true  as 
your  name  is  Sandy  Bayne." 

"Well,  my  name  is  Sandy  Bayne,  all  right,  but  how 
did  he  come  out  at  the  Calgary  trials?" 

"Aw,  those  damned  gawks !  They  don't  know  a  good 
dog  from  a  he-goat!  They  don't  know  what  a  dog  is 
for,  or  how  to  use  him." 

"Oh,  now,  Stewart,"  said  Sandy,  "I  guess  Willocks 
knows  a  dog  when  he  sees  one." 

"Willocks!"  said  his  friend  with  scorn.  "There's 
where  you're  wrong.  Do  you  know  why  he  cut  Slipper 
out  of  the  Blue  Ribbon?  Because  he  wouldn't  range  a 
mile  away.  Darned  old  fool !  What's  the  good  of  a  point 
a  mile  away!  Keeps  you  running  over  the  whole  crea- 
tion, makes  you  lose  time,  tires  yourself  and  tires  your 
dog;  and  more  than  that,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  you 
lose  your  bird.  Give  me  a  close  ranger.  He  cleans  up 
as  he  goes,  keeps  your  game  right  at  your  hand,  and  gets 
you  all  the  sport  there  is." 

"Who  beat  you,  Stewart,  in  the  trials?" 

"That  bitch  of  Snider's." 

"Man!  Stewart,  that's  a  beautiful  bitch!  I  know  her 
well.  She's  a  beautiful  bitch!"  Sandy  began  to  show 
enthusiasm. 

"Oh,  there  you  go !  That's  just  what  those  fool  judges 
said.  'Beautiful  dog!  Beautiful  dog!'  Suppose  she  is! 
Looks  ain't  everything.  They're  something,  but  the  ques- 
tion is,  does  she  get  the  birds?  Now,  Slipper  there  got 
three  birds  to  her  one.  Got  'em  within  range,  too." 

"Ah,  but  Stewart,  yon's  a  good  bitch,"  said  Sandy. 

"Look  here!"  cried  his  friend,  "I  have  bred  more 
dogs  in  the  old  country  than  those  men  ever  saw  in  their 
lives." 

"That  may  be,  Stewart,  but  yon's  a  good  bitch,"  per- 
sisted Sandy. 

For  a  mile  more  they  discussed  the  merits  of  Slipper 
and  of  his  rivals,  Sandy  with  his  semi-humorous  chaff 


ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL  29 

extracting  quiet  amusement  from  his  friend's  wrath,  and 
the  latter,  though  suspecting  that  he  was  being  drawn, 
unable  to  restrain  his  passionate  championship  of  his 
dog. 

At  length  Sandy,  wearying  of  the  discussion,  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  far  before  them  on  the  trail. 

"Who  is  that  walking  along  there?"  he  enquired. 

Together  they  ran  over  the  names  of  all  who  in  this 
horse  country  were  unfortunate  enough  to  be  doomed  to 
a  pedestrian  form  of  locomotion. 

"Guess  it's  the  preacher,"  said  Duff  finally,  whose 
eyes  were  like  a  hawk's. 

"He's  been  out  at  my  place  Sunday  afternoon,"  said 
Sandy,  "but  I  haven't  met  him  myself.  What  sort  is 
he?" 

"Don't  ask  me.  I  sometimes  go  with  the  madame 
to  church,  but  generally  I  fall  asleep.  He's  no  alarm 
clock." 

"Then  you  can't  tell  what  sort  of  a  preacher  he  is," 
said  Sandy  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "You  can't  hear 
much  when  you  are  asleep." 

"I  hear  enough  to  know  that  he's  no  good  as  a 
preacher.  I  hear  they're  going  to  fire  him." 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Stewart,"  said  Sandy,  "I  don't 
believe  you  would  know  a  good  sermon  if  you  heard 
one." 

"What's  that  you  say?  I've  heard  the  best  preachers 
in  the  country  that  breeds  preachers,  in  the  country  wfiere 
preachers  grow  like  the  berries  on  the  bramble  bushes.  I 
know  preaching,  and  I  like  good  preaching,  too." 

"Oh,  come  off,  Stewart !  You  may  be  a  good  judge  of 
dogs,  but  I'm  blowed  if  I  am  going  to  take  you  as  a  judge 
of  preachers." 

"The  same  qualities  in  all  of  them,  dogs,  horses, 
preachers,"  insisted  Duff. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"Well,  take  a  horse.  He  must  be  a  good-looker.  This 
preacher  is  a  good-looker,  all  right,  but  looks  ain't  every- 


SO       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

thing.  Must  be  quick  at  the  start,  must  have  good  ac- 
tion, good  style,  staying  power,  and  good  at  the  finish. 
Most  preachers  never  know  when  to  finish,  and  that's 
the  way  with  this  man." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  him  up?"  inquired  Sandy, 
for  they  were  jiow  close  upon  the  man  walking  before 
them. 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  replied  Duff.  "I  haven't  much  use 
for  him." 

"Say,  what's  the  matter  with  him?  He  looks  rather 
puffed  out,"  said  Sandy.  "Better  take  him  up." 

"All  right,"  replied  Duff,  pulling  up  his  bronchos. 
"Good  day.  Will  you  have  a  ride  ?  Mr.  Barry  Dunbar, 
my  friend  Mr.  Bayne." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Bayne,"  said  Barry,  who  was 
pale  and  panting  hard.  "Thanks  for  the  lift.  The  truth 
— is — I'm  rather — done  up.  A  touch  of  asthma — the 
first — in  five  years.  An  old  trouble  of  mine." 

"Get  up  here,"  said  Sandy.  "There's  room  for  three 
in  the  seat." 

"No — thank  you, 1  should — crowd  you, — all  right 

behind  here.  Beastly  business — this  asthma.  Worse 
when — the  pollen — from  the  plants — is  floating — about 
— so  they  say.  I  don't  know — nobody  does — I  fancy." 

They  drove  on,  bumping  over  the  stones,  Barry  gradu- 
ally getting  back  his  wind.  The  talk  of  the  men  in  the 
front  seat  had  fallen  again  on  dogs,  Stewart  maintaining 
with  ever  increasing  vehemence  his  expert  knowledge  of 
dogs,  of  hunting  dogs,  and  very  especially  of  setter  hunt- 
ing dogs;  his  friend,  while  granting  his  knowledge  of 
dogs  in  general,  questioning  the  unprejudiced  nature  of 
his  judgment  as  far  as  Slipper  was  concerned. 

As  Duff's  declarations  grew  in  violence  they  became 
more  and  more  elaborately  decorated  with  profanity.  In 
the  full  tide  of  their  conversation  a  quiet  voice  broke  in : 

"Too  many  'damns.' ' 

"What!"  exclaimed  Duff. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  Sandy. 


ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL  31 

"Too  many  'damns,'  "  said  Barry,  looking  quietly  at 
Duff. 

"Dams?    Where?"  said  Duff,  looking  about 

"Beaver  dams,  do  you  mean?"  enquired  Sandy.  "I 
don't  see  any." 

"Too  many  'damns/  "  reiterated  Barry.  "You  don't 
need  them.  You  really  don't  need  them,  you  know,  and 
besides,  they  are  not  right.  Profanity  is  quite  useless, 
and  it's  wicked." 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  said  Stewart  in  a  low  voice 
to  his  friend.  "He  means  us." 

"And  quite  right,  too,"  said  Sandy  solemnly.  "You 
know  your  English  is  rotten  bad.  Yes,  sir,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  round  to  Barry,  "I  quite  agree  with  you. 
My  friend  is  quite  unnecessarily  free  in  his  speech." 

"Yes,  but  you  are  just  the  same,  you  know,"  said 
Barry.  "Not  quite  so  many,  but  then  you  are  not  quite 
so  excited." 

"Got  you  there,  old  sport,"  grunted  Duff,  highly 
amused  at  Sandy's  discomfiture.  But  to  Barry  he  said, 
"I  guess  it's  our  own  business  how  we  express  our- 
selves." 

"Yes,  it  is,  but,  pardon  me,  not  entirely  so.  There 
are  others  in  the  world,  you  know,  and  you  must  con- 
sider others.  The  habit  is  a  bad  habit,  a  rotten  habit, 
and  quite  useless — silly,  indeed." 

Duff  turned  his  back  upon  him.  Sandy,  giving  his 
friend  a  nudge,  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"You  are  right,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  Barry.  "You 
are  quite  right." 

At  this  point  Slipper  created  a  diversion. 

"Hello!"  said  Duff.  "Say!  Look  at  him!"  He 
pointed  to  the  dog.  "Ain't  he  a  picture!" 

A  hundred  yards  away  stood  Slipper,  rigid,  every 
muscle,  every  hair  taut,  one  foot  arrested  in  air. 

"I'll  just  get  those,"  said  Duff,  slipping  out  of  the 
buckboard  and  drawing  the  gun  from  beneath  the  seat. 
"Steady,  old  boy,  steady!  Hold  the  lines,  Sandy." 


32       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

He  moved  quickly  toward  the  dog  who,  quivering 
with  that  mysterious  instinct  found  in  the  hunting  dog, 
still  held  the  point  with  taut  muscles,  nose  and  tail  in 
line. 

"Hello!"  Barry  called  out.  "It  isn't  the  season  yet 
for  chicken.  I  say,  Mr.  Duff,"  he  shouted,  "it  isn't  the 
chicken  season,  you  know." 

"Better  leave  him  alone,"  said  Sandy. 

"But  it  isn't  the  season  yet!  It  is  against  the  law!" 
protested  Barry  indignantly. 

Meantime  Stewart  Duff  was  closing  up  cautiously  be- 
hind Slipper. 

"Forward,  old  boy!  Ste-e-e-ady!  Forward!"  The 
dog  refused  to  move.  "Forward,  Slipper!" 

Still  the  dog  remained  rigid,  as  if  nailed  to  the  ground. 

"On,  Slipper!" 

Slowly  the  dog  turned  his  head  with  infinite  caution 
half  round  toward  his  master,  as  if  in  protest. 

"Hello,  there !"  shouted  Barry,  "you  know " 

Just  as  he  called  there  was  on  all  sides  a  great  whir- 
ring of  wings.  A  dozen  chicken  flew  up  from  under 
Duff's  feet.  Bang !  Bang !  went  his  gun. 

"Missed,  as  I'm  a  sinner!"  exclaimed  Sandy.  "I 
thought  he  was  a  better  shot  than  that." 

Back  came  Duff  striding  wide  toward  the  buckboard. 
Fifty  yards  away  he  shouted: 

"Say !  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  calling  like  that  at 
a  man  when  he's  on  the  point  of  shooting!"  His  face 
was  black  with  anger.  He  looked  ready  to  strike.  Barry 
looked  at  him  steadily. 

"But,  I  was  just  reminding  you  that  it  was  not  the 
season  for  chicken  yet,"  he  said  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
prepared  to  reason  the  matter. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it!  And  anyway,  whose 
business  is  it  what  I  do  but  my  own?" 

"But  it's  against  the  law !" 

"Oh,  blank  the  law !    Besides " 

"Besides  it  isn't — well,  you  know,  it  isn't  quite  sport- 


ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL  33 

ing  to  shoot  out  of  season."  Barry's  manner  was  as  if 
dealing  with  a  fractious  child. 

Duff,  speechless  with  his  passion,  looked  at  him  as  if 
not  quite  sure  what  form  his  vengeance  should  take. 

"He's  quite  right,  Stewart,"  said  his  friend  Sandy, 
who  was  hugely  enjoying  himself.  "You  know  well 
enough  you  are  down  on  the  farmer  chaps  who  go  pot 
hunting  before  season.  It's  rotten  sport,  you  know." 

"Oh,  hell!  Will  you  shut  up!  Can't  I  shoot  over 
my  dog  when  he  points?  I'm  not  out  shooting.  If  I 
want  to  give  my  dog  a  little  experience  an  odd  bird  or 
two  don't  matter.  Besides,  what  the " 

"Oh,  come  on,  Stewart !  Get  in,  and  get  a  move  on ! 
You  know  you  jire  in  the  wrong.  But  I  thought  you 
were  a  better  shot  than  that,"  added  Sandy. 

His  remark  diverted  Duff's  rage. 

"Better  shot!"  he  stormed.  "Who  could  shoot  with 
a — a — a — "  he  was  feeling  round  helplessly  for  a  prop- 
erly effective  word, — "with  a  fellow  yelling  at  you?"  he 
concluded  lamely.  "I'd  have  had  a  brace  of  them  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  him." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Barry  coolly,  "I  saved  you  from 
the  law." 

"Saved  me  from  the  law!  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean,  anyway?"  said  Stewart.  "If  I  want  to  pick  up 
a  bird  who's  to  hinder  me?  And  what's  the  law  got  to 
do  with  it?" 

"Well,  you  know,  I'm  not  sure  but  it  might  have  been 
my  duty  to  report  you.  I  feel  that  all  who  break  the 
game  laws  should  be  reported.  It  is  the  only  way  to 
stop  the  lawless  destruction  of  the  game." 

Barry  spoke  in  a  voice  of  quiet  deliberation,  as  if 
pondering  the  proper  action  in  the  premises. 

"Quite  right,  too,"  said  Sandy  gravely,  but  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  blue  eye.  "They  ought  to  be  reported.  I 
have  no  use  for  those  poachers." 

Duff  made  no  reply.  His  rage  and  disgust,  mingled 
with  the  sense  of  his  being  in  the  wrong,  held  him  silent. 


34       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

No  man  in  the  whole  country  was  harder  upon  the  game 
poachers  than  he,  but  to  be  held  up  in  his  action  and  to 
be  threatened  with  the  law  by  this  young  preacher,  whom 
he  rather  despised  anyway,  seemed  to  paralyse  his  men- 
tal activities.  It  did  not  help  his  self-control  that  he  was 
aware  that  his  friend  was  having  his  fun  of  him. 

At  this  moment,  fortunately  for  the  harmony  of  the 
party,  their  attention  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of 
a  motor  car  driven  at  a  furious  rate  along  the  trail,  and 
which  almost  before  they  were  aware  came  honking 
upon  them.  With  a  wild  lurch  the  bronchos  hurled 
themselves  from  the  trail,  upsetting  the  buckboard  and 
spilling  its  load. 

Duff,  cumbered  with  his  gun,  which  he  had  reloaded, 
allowed  one  of  the  reins  to  drop  from  his  hands  and 
the  team  went  plunging  about  in  a  circle,  but  Barry,  the 
first  to  get  to  his  feet,  rushed  to  the  rescue,  snatched 
the  reins  and  held  on  till  he  had  dragged  the  plunging 
bronchos  to  a  halt. 

The  rage  which  had  been  boiling  in  Duff,  and  which 
with  difficulty  had  been  held  within  bounds,  suddenly 
burst  all  bonds  of  control.  With  a  fierce  oath  he  picked 
up  the  gun  which  he  had  thrown  aside  in  his  struggle 
with  the  horses,  and  levelled  it  at  the  speeding  motor  car. 

"For  God's  sake,  Stewart,  stop!"  shouted  Bayne, 
springing  toward  his  friend. 

Barry  was  nearer  and  quicker.  The  shot  went  off, 
but  his  hand  had  knocked  up  the  gun. 

"My  God,  Stewart !  Are  you  clean  crazy !"  said  Bayne, 
gripping  him  by  the  arm.  "Do  you  know  what  you  are 
doing?  You  are  not  fit  to  carry  a  gun!" 

"I'd  have  bust  his  blanked  tires  for  him,  anyway!" 
blustered  Duff,  though  his  face  and  voice  showed  that 
he  had  received  a  shock. 

"Yes,  and  you  might  have  been  a  murderer  by  this 
time,  and  heading  for  the  pen,  but  for  Dunbar  here. 
You  owe  him  more  than  you  can  ever  pay,  you  blanked 
fool!" 


ON  THE  RED  PINE  TRAIL  35 

Duff  made  no  reply,  but  busied  himself  with  his  horses. 
Nor  did  he  speak  again  till  everything  was  in  readiness 
for  the  road. 

"Get  in,"  he  then  said  gruffly,  and  that  was  his  last 
word  until  they  drove  into  the  village. 

At  the  store  he  drew  up. 

"Thank  you  for  the  lift,"  said  Barry.  "I  should  have 
had  a  tough  job  to  get  back  in  time." 

Duff  grunted  at  him,  and  passed  on  into  the  store. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  you,"  said  Bayne,  shak- 
ing hands  warmly  with  him.  "You  have  done  us  both 
a  great  service.  He  is  my  friend,  you  know." 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  offended  him,  all  the  same.  But 
you  see  I  couldn't  help  it,  could  I  ?" 

Bayne  looked  at  his  young,  earnest  face  for  a  moment 
or  two  as  if  studying  him,  then  said  with  a  curious 
smile,  "No,  I  don't  believe  you  could  have  helped  it." 
And  with  that  he  passed  into  the  store. 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  that  preacher  of  yours?" 
he  asked  of  the  storekeeper. 

"I  don't  know;  he  ain't  my  church.  Ask  Innes  there. 
He's  a  pillar." 

Bayne  turned  to  a  long,  lean,  hard-faced  man  lean- 
ing against  the  counter. 

"My  name  is  Bayne,  from  Red  Pine,  Mr.  Innes.  I 
am  interested  in  knowing  what  sort  of  a  chap  your 
preacher  is.  He  comes  out  to  our  section,  but  I  never 
met  him  till  to-day." 

"Oh,  he's  no  that  bad,"  said  Innes  cautiously. 

"Not  worth  a  cent,"  said  a  little,  red  headed  man 
standing  near.  "He  can't  preach  for  sour  apples." 

"I  wadna  just  say  that,  Mr.  Hayes,"  said  Innes. 

"How  do  you  know,  Innes?"  retorted  Hayes.  "You 
know  you  fall  asleep  before  he  gets  rightly  started." 

"I  aye  listen  better  with  ma  eyes  shut." 

"Yes,  and  snore  better,  too,  Mac,"  said  Hayes.  "But 
I  don't  blame  you.  Most  of  them  go  to  sleep  anyway. 
That's  the  kind  of  preacher  he  is." 


36       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  he?  I  mean  what  sort  of 
man?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  he's  always  buttin'  in,"  volun- 
teered a  square-built  military  looking  man  standing  near. 
"If  he'd  stick  to  his  gospel  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  but 
he's  always  pokin'  his  nose  into  everything." 

"But  he's  no  that  bad,"  said  Innes  again,  "and  as  for 
buttin'  in,  McFettridge,  and  preachin'  the  gospel,  I  doubt 
the  country  is  a  good  deal  the  better  for  the  buttin'  in 
that  him  and  his  likes  have  done  this  past  year.  And 
besides,  the  bairns  all  like  him." 

"Well,  that's  not  a  bad  sign,  Mr.  Innes,"  said  Sandy 
Bayne,  "and  I'm  not  sure  that  I  don't  like  him  myself. 
But  I  guess  he  butts  in,  all  right." 

"Oh,  ay!  he  butts  in,"  agreed  Innes,  "but  I'm  no  so 
sure  that  that's  no  a  part  of  his  job,  too." 


CHAPTER  III 

A   QUESTION   OF   CONSCIENCE 

THE  Dunbars  lived  in  a  cottage  on  a  back  street, 
which  had  the  distinction  of  being  the  only  home 
on  the  street  which  possessed  the  adornment  of  a  gar- 
den. A  unique  garden  it  was,  too.  Indeed,  with  the 
single  exception  of  Judge  Hepburn's  garden,  which  was 
quite  an  elaborate  affair,  and  which  was  said  to  have 
cost  the  Judge  a  "pile  of  money,"  there  was  none  to 
compare  with  it  in  the  village  of  Wapiti. 

Any  garden  on  that  bare,  wind-swept  prairie  meant 
toil  and  infinite  pains,  but  a  garden  like  that  of  the  Dun- 
bars  represented  in  addition  something  of  genius.  In 
conception,  in  design,  and  in  execution  the  Dunbars' 
garden  was  something  apart.  Visitors  were  taken  'round 
to  the  back  street  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  Dunbars'  cot- 
tage and  garden. 

The  garden  was  in  two  sections.  That  at  the  back 
of  the  cottage,  sheltered  by  a  high,  close  board  fence 
covered  with  Virginia  creeper,  was  given  over  to  vege- 
tables, and  it  was  quite  marvellous  how,  under  Richard 
Dunbar's  care,  a  quarter  of  an  acre  of  ground  could  grow 
such  enormous  quantities  of  vegetables  of  all  kinds. 
Next  to  the  vegetable  garden  came  the  plot  for  small 
fruits — strawberries,  raspberries,  currants,  of  rare 
varieties. 

The  front  garden  was  devoted  to  flowers.  Here  were 
to  be  found  the  old  fashioned  flowers  dear  to  our  grand- 
mothers, and  more  particularly  the  old  fashioned  flow- 
ers native  to  English  and  Scottish  soil.  Between  the  two 
gardens  a  thick  row  of  tall,  splendid  sunflowers  made 
a  stately  hedge.  Then  came  larkspur,  peonies,  stocks, 

37 


38       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

and  sweet-williams,  verbenas  and  mignonette,  with  bor- 
ders of  lobelia  and  heliotrope.  Along  the  fence  were 
sweet  peas,  for  which  Alberta  is  famous. 

But  it  was  the  part  of  the  garden  close  about  the  front 
porch  and  verandah  where  the  particular  genius  of  Rich- 
ard Dunbar  showed  itself.  Here  the  flowers  native  to 
the  prairie,  the  coulee,  the  canyon,  were  gathered;  the 
early  wind  flower,  the  crowfoot  and  the  buffalo  bean, 
wild  snowdrops  and  violets.  Over  trellises  ran  the  tiny 
morning-glory,  with  vetch  and  trailing  arbutus.  A  bed 
of  wild  roses  grew  to  wonderful  perfection.  Later 
in  the  year  would  be  seen  the  yellow  and  crimson  lilies, 
daisies  white  and  golden,  and  when  other  flowers  had 
faded,  golden  rod  and  asters  in  gorgeous  contrast.  The 
approach  to  the  door  of  the  house  was  by  a  gravel  walk 
bordered  by  these  prairie  flowers. 

The  house  inside  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the  garden. 
The  living  room,  simple  in  its  plan,  plain  in  its  furnish- 
ing, revealed  everywhere  that  touch  in  decorative  adorn- 
ment that  spoke  of  the  cultivated  mind  and  refined  taste. 
A  group  of  rare  etchings  had  their  place  over  the  mantel 
above  a  large,  open  fireplace.  On  the  walls  were  to  be 
seen  really  fine  copies  of  the  world's  most  famous  pic- 
tures, and  on  the  panels  which  ran  'round  the  walls  were 
bits  of  pottery  and  china,  relics  of  other  days  and  of 
other  homes. 

But  what  was  most  likely  to  strike  the  eye  of  a  stranger 
on  entering  the  living  room  was  the  array  of  different 
kinds  of  musical  instruments.  At  one  end  of  the  room 
stood  a  small  upright  piano,  a  'cello  held  one  corner, 
a  guitar  another;  upon  a  table  a  cornet  was  deposited, 
and  on  the  piano  a  violin  case  could  be  seen,  while  a 
banjo  hung  from  a  nail  on  the  wall. 

Near  the  fireplace  a  curiously  carved  pipe-rack  hung, 
with  some  half  dozen  pipes  of  weird  design,  evidently 
the  coHection  of  years,  while  just  under  it  a  small  table 
held  the  utensils  sacred  to  the  smoker. 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  39 

When  Barry  entered  he  found  the  table  set  and  every- 
thing in  readiness  for  tea. 

"Awfully  sorry  I'm  too  late  to  help  you  with  tea,  dad. 
I  have  had  a  long  walk,  and  quite  a  deuce  of  a  time 
getting  home." 

"All  right,  boy.  Glad  you  are  here.  The  toast  is 
readv,  tea  waiting  to  be  infused.  But  what  happened? 
No,  don't  begin  telling  me  till  you  get  yourself  ready. 
But  hurry,  your  meeting  hour  will  be  on  in  no  time." 

"Right-o,  dad!  Shame  to  make  a  slavey  of  you  in 
this  way.  I'll  be  out  in  a  jiffy." 

He  threw  off  his  coat  and  vest,  shirt  and  collar,  took 
a  pail  of  water  to  a  big  block  in  the  little  shed  at  the 
back,  soused  his  head  and  shoulders  in  it  with  loud 
snorting  and  puffing,  and  emerged  in  a  few  minutes 
looking  refreshed,  clean  and  wholesome,  his  handsome 
face  shining  with  vigorous  health. 

Together  they  stood  at  the  table  while  the  son  said 
a  few  words  of  reverent  grace. 

"I'm  ravenous,  dad.  What!  Fried  potatoes!  Oh, 
you  are  a  brick." 

"Tired,  boy?" 

"No.  That  reminds  me  of  my  thrilling  tale,  which  I 
shall  begin  after  my  third  slice  of  toast,  and  not  before. 
You  can  occupy  the  precious  minutes,  dad,  in  telling  me 
of  your  excitements  in  the  office  this  afternoon." 

"Don't  sniff  at  me.  I  had  a  few,  though  apparently 
you  think  it  impossible  in  my  humdrum  grey  life." 

"Good!"  said  Barry,  his  mouth  full  of  toast.  "Go 
on." 

"Young  Neil  Fraser  is  buying,  or  has  just  bought,  the 
S.Q.R.  ranch.  Filed  the  transfer  to-day." 

"Neil  Fraser?  He's  in  my  tale,  too.  Bought  the 
S.Q.R. ?  Where  did  he  get  the  stuff?" 

"Stuff?" 

"Dough,  the  dirt,  the  wherewithal,  in  short  the  cur- 
rency, dad." 


40       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Barry,  you  are  ruining  your  English,"  said  his 
father. 

"Yum-yum.  Bully!  Did  you  notice  that,  dad?  I'm 
coming  on,  eh?  One  thing  I  almost  pray  about,  that 
I  might  become  expert  in  slinging  the  modern  jaw  hash. 
I'm  appallingly  correct  in  my  forms  of  speech.  But 
go  on,  dad.  I'm  throwing  too  much  vocalisation  my- 
self. You  were  telling  me  about  Neil  Fraser.  Give  us 
the  chorus  now." 

"I  don't  like  it,  boy,"  said  his  father,  shaking  his  head, 
"and  especially  in  a  clergyman." 

"But  that's  where  you  are  off,  dad.  The  trouble  is, 
when  I  come  within  range  of  any  of  my  flock  all  my 
flip  vocabulary  absolutely  vanishes,  and  I  find  myself 
talking  like  a  professor  of  English  or  a  maiden  lady 
school  ma'am  of  very  certain  age." 

"I  don't  like  it,  boy.  Correct  English  is  the  only 
English  for  a  gentleman." 

"I  wonder,"  said  the  lad.  "But  I  don't  want  to  worry 
you,  dad." 

"Oh,  as  for  me,  that  matters  nothing  at  all,  but  I 
am  thinking  of  you  and  of  your  profession,  your  stand- 
ing." 

"I  know  that,  dad.  I  sometimes  wish  you  would  think 
a  little  more  about  yourself.  But  what  of  Neil  Fraser?" 

"He  has  come  into  some  money.  He  has  bought  the 
ranch." 

Barry's  tone  expressed  doubtful  approval.  "Neil  is 
a  good  sort,  dad,  awfully  reckless,  but  I  like  him,"  said 
Barry.  "He  is  up  and  up  with  it  all." 

"Now,  what  about  your  afternoon?"  said  his  father. 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  I  had  a  dose  of  my  old  friend, 
the  enemy." 

"Barry,  you  don't  tell  me!  Your  asthma!"  His  fa- 
ther sat  back  from  the  table  gazing  at  him  in  dismay. 
"And  I  thought  that  was  all  done  with." 

"So  did  I,  dad.  But  it  really  didn't  amount  to  much. 
Probably  some  stomach  derangement,  more  likely  some 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  41 

of  that  pollen  which  is  floating  around  now.  I  passed 
through  a  beaver  meadow  where  they  were  cutting  hay, 
and  away  I  went  in  a  gale  of  sneezing,  forty  miles  an 
hour.  But  I'm  all  right  now,  dad.  I'm  telling  you  the 
truth.  You  know  I  do." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  his  father,  concern  and  relief 
mingling  in  his  voice,  "but  you  don't  know  how  to  take 
care  of  yourself,  Barry.  But  go  on  with  your  tale." 

"Well,  as  I  was  panting  along  like  a  'heavey  horse,' 
as  Harry  Hobbs  would  say, — not  really  too  bad,  dad, — 
along  comes  that  big  rancher,  Stewart  Duff,  driving  his 
team  of  pinto  bronchos,  and  with  him  a  chap  named 
Bayne,  from  Red  Pine  Creek.  He  turned  out  to  be  an 
awfully  decent  sort.  And  Duff's  dog,  Slipper,  ranging 
on  ahead,  a  beautiful  setter." 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him." 

They  discussed  for  a  few  moments  the  beauties  and 
points  of  Duff's  Slipper,  for  both  were  keen  sportsmen, 
and  both  were  devoted  to  dogs.  Then  Barry  went  back 
to  his  tale  and  gave  an  account  of  what  had  happened 
during  the  ride  home. 

"You  see  Slipper  ranging  about  got  'on  point'  and 
beautiful  work  it  was,  too.  Out  jumped  Duff  with  his 
gun,  ready  to  shoot,  though,  of  course,  he  knew  it  was 
out  of  season  and  that  he  was  breaking  the  law.  Well, 
just  as  Slipper  flushed  the  birds,  I  shouted  to  Duff  that 
he  was  shooting  out  of  season.  He  missed." 

"Oh,  he  was  properly  wrathful  at  my  spoiling  his 
shot,"  cried  the  young  man. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  blame  him,  Barry,"  said  his 
father  thoughtfully.  "It  is  an  annoying  thing  to  be 
shouted  at  with  your  gun  on  a  bird,  you  know,  extremely 
annoying." 

"But  he  was  breaking  the  law,  dad!"  cried  Barry  in- 
dignantly. 

"I  know,  I  know.    But  after  all " 

"But,  dad,  you  can't  sit  there  and  tell  me  that  you 
don't  condemn  him  for  shooting  out  of  season.  You 


42       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

know  nothing  makes  you  more  furious  than  hearing 
about  chaps  who  pot  chicken  out  of  season." 

"I  know,  I  know,  my  boy."  The  father  was  appar- 
ently quite  distressed.  "You  are  quite  right,  but " 

"Now,  dad,  I  won't  have  it!  You  are  not  to  tell  me 
that  I  had  no  business  to  stop  him  if  I  could.  Besides, 
the  law  is  the  law,  and  sport  is  sport." 

"I  quite  agree,  Barry.  Believe  me,  I  quite  agree. 
Yet  all  the  same,  a  chap  does  hate  to  have  his  shot  spoiled, 
and  to  shout  at  a  fellow  with  his  gun  on  a  bird, — well, 
you'll  excuse  me,  Barry,  but  it  is  hardly  the  sporting 
thing." 

"Sporting!  Sporting!"  said  Barry.  "I  know  that  I 
hated  to  do  it,  but  it  was  right.  Besides  talk  about  'sport- 
ing'— what  about  shooting  out  of  season?" 

"Yes,  yes.    Well,  we  won't  discuss  it.    Go  on,  Barry." 

"But  I  don't  like  it,  dad.  I  don't  like  to  think  that 
you  don't  approve  of  what  I  do.  It  was  a  beastly  hard 
thing  to  do,  anyway.  I  had  to  make  myself  do  it.  It 
was  my  duty."  The  young  man  sat  looking  anxiously 
at  his  father. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  said  his  father,  "I  may  be  wrong, 
but  do  you  think  you  are  always  called  upon  to  remon- 
strate with  every  law  breaker?  No,  listen  to  me,"  he 
continued  hurriedly.  "What  I  mean  is,  must  you  or  any 
of  us  assume  responsibility  for  every  criminal  in  the 
land?" 

Barry  sat  silent  a  moment,  considering  this  propo- 
sition. 

"I  wish  I  knew,  dad.  You  know,  I  have  often  said 
that  to  excuse  myself  after  I  have  funked  a  thing,  and 
let  something  go  by  without  speaking  up  against  it." 

"Funked  it!" 

"Yes.  Funked  standing  up  for  the  right  thing,  you 
know." 

"Funked  it!"  said  his  father  again.  "You  wouldn't 
do  that,  Barry?" 

"Oh,  wouldn't  I,  though?    I  am  afraid  you  don't  know 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  43 

me  very  well,  dad.  However,  I  rather  think  I  had  started 
him  up  before  that,  you  know.  You  won't  like  this 
either.  But  I  may  as  well  go  through  with  it  You 
know,  he  was  swearing  and  cursing  most  awfully,  just 
in  his  ordinary  talk  you  know,  and  that  is  a  thing  I  can't 
stand,  so  I  up  and  told  him  he  was  using  too  many 
'damns.'  " 

"You  did,  eh?"  In  spite  of  himself  the  father  could 
not  keep  the  surprise  out  of  his  voice.  "Well,  that  took 
some  nerve,  at  any  rate." 

"There  you  are  again,  dad!  You  think  I  had  no 
right  to  speak.  But  somehow  I  can't  help  feeling  I  was 
right.  For  don't  you  see,  it  would  have  seemed  a  bit  like 
lowering  the  flag  to  have  kept  silent." 

"Then  for  God's  sake  speak  out,  lad!  I  do  not  feel 
quite  the  same  way  as  you,  but.  it  is  what  you  think 
yourself  that  must  guide  you.  But  go  on,  go  on." 

"Well,  I  assure  you  he  was  in  a  proper  rage,  and  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Bayne  I  believe  he  would  have  trimmed 
me  to  a  peak,  administered  a  fitting  castigation,  I  mean." 

"He  would,  eh?"  said  the  father  with  a  grim  smile. 
"I  should  like  to  see  him  try." 

"So  should  I,  dad,  if  you  were  around.  I  think  I  see 
you — feint  with  the  right,  then  left,  right,  left!  bing! 
bang !  bung !  All  over  but  the  shiver,  eh,  dad  ?  It  would 
be  sweet!  But,"  he  added  regretfully,  "that's  the  very 
thing  a  fellow  cannot  do." 

"Cannot  do?  And  why  not,  pray?  It  is  what  every 
fellow  is  in  duty  bound  to  do  to  a  bully  of  that  sort." 

"Yes,  but  to  be  quite  fair,  dad,  you  could  hardly  call 
Duff  a  bully.  At  least,  he  wasn't  bullying  me.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  was  bullying  him.  Oh,  I  think  he  had 
reason  to  be  angry.  When  a  chap  undertakes  to  pull 
another  chap  up  for  law  breaking,  perhaps  he  should 
be  prepared  to  take  the  consequences.  But  to  go  on. 
Bayne  stepped  in — awfully  decent  of  him,  too, — when 
just  at  that  moment,  as  novelists  say,  with  startling  sud- 
denness occurred  an  event  that  averted  the  impending 


44       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

calamity.  Along  came  Neil  Fraser,  no  less,  in  that  new 
car  of  his,  in  a  whirlwind  of  noise  and  dust,  honking 
like  a  flock  of  wild  geese.  Well,  you  should  have  seen 
those  bronchos.  One  lurch,  and  we  were  on  the  ground, 
a  beautiful  upset,  and  the  bronchos  in  an  incipient  run- 
away, fortunately  checked  by  your  humble  servant.  Duff, 
in  a  new  and  real  rage  this  time,  up  with  his  gun  and 
banged  off  both  barrels  after  the  motor  car,  by  this  time 
honking  down  the  trail." 

"By  Jove!  he  deserved  it,"  said  the  father.  "Those 
motor  fellows  make  me  long  to  do  murder  at  times." 

"That's  because  you  have  no  car,  Dad,  of  course." 

"Did  he  hit  him,  do  you  think  ?" 

"No.  My  arm  happened  to  fly  up,  the  gun  banged 
toward  the  zenith.  Nothing  doing!" 

"Well,  Barry,  you  do  seem  to  have  run  foul  of  Mr. 
Duff." 

"Three  times,  dad.  But  each  time  prevented  him  from 
breaking  the  law  and  doing  himself  and  others  injury. 
Would  you  have  let  him  off  this  last  time,  dad?" 

"No,  no,  boy.  Human  life  has  the  first  claim  upon 
our  care.  You  did  quite  right,  quite  right.  Ungov- 
ernable fool  he  must  be!  Shouldn't  be  allowed  to  carry 
a  gun." 

"So  Bayne  declared,"  said  Barry. 

"Well,  you  have  had  quite  an  exciting  afternoon. 
But  finish  your  tea  and  get  ready  for  the  meeting.  I 
will  wash  up." 

"Not  if  I  know  it,  dad.  You  take  your  saw-horse 
and  do  me  a  little  Handel  or  Schubert.  Do,  please,"  en- 
treated his  son.  "I  want  that  before  meeting  more  than 
anything  else.  I  want  a  change  of  mood.  I  confess  I 
am  slightly  rattled.  My  address  is  all  prepared,  but  I 
must  have  atmosphere  before  I  go  into  the  meeting." 

His  father  took  the  'cello,  and  after  a  few  moments 
spent  in  carefully  tuning  up,  began  with  Handel's  im- 
mortal Largo,  then  he  wandered  into  the  Adagio  Move- 
ment in  Haydn's  third  Sonata,  from  thence  to  Schubert's 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  45 

Impromptu  in  C  Minor,  after  which  he  began  the  Sere- 
nade, when  he  was  checked  by  his  son. 

"No,  not  that,  dad,  that's  sickening.  I  consider  that 
the  most  morally  relaxing  bit  of  music  that  I  know.  It 
frays  the  whole  moral  fibre.  Give  us  one  of  Chopin's 
Ballades,  or  better  still  a  bit  of  that  posthumous  Fan- 
tasie  Impromptu,  the  largo  movement.  Ah !  fine !  fine !" 

He  flung  his  dish-cloth  aside,  ran  to  the  piano  and 
began  an  accompaniment  to  his  father's  playing. 

"Now,  dad,  the  Largo  once  more  before  we  close." 
They  did  the  Largo  once  and  again,  then  springing  from 
the  piano  Barry  cried :  "That  Largo  is  a  means  of  grace 
to  me.  There  could  be  no  better  preparation  for  a  reli- 
gious meeting  than  that.  If  you  would  only  come  in 
and  play  for  them,  it  would  do  them  much  more  good 
than  all  my  preaching." 

"If  you  would  only  take  your  music  seriously,  Barry," 
replied  his  father,  somewhat  sadly,  "you  would  become 
a  good  player,  perhaps  even  a  great  player." 

"And  then  what,  dad?" 

His  father  waved  him  aside,  putting  up  his  'cello. 

"No  use  going  into  that  again,  boy." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  have  been  a  great  player,  at  any  rate, 
dad." 

"Perhaps  not,  boy,  perhaps  not,"  said  his  father. 
"Great  players  are  very  rare.  But  it  is  time  for  your 
meeting." 

"So  it  is,  dad.  Awfully  sorry  I  didn't  finish  up  those 
dishes.  Let  them  go  till  I  return.  I  wish  you  would, 
dad,  and  come  along  with  me."  His  voice  had  a  wistful 
note  in  it. 

"Not  to-night,  boy,  I  think.  We  will  have  some  talk 
after.  You  will  only  be  an  hour,  you  know." 

"All  right,  dad,"  said  Barry.  "Some  time  you  may 
come."  He  could  not  hide  the  wistful  regret  of  his  tone. 

"Perhaps  I  shall,  boy,"  replied  his  father. 

It  was  the  one  point  upon  which  there  was  a  lack  of 
perfect  harmony  between  father  and  son.  When  the 


46       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

boy  went  to  college  it  was  with  the  intention  of  en- 
tering the  profession  of  law,  for  which  his  father  had 
been  reading  in  his  young  manhood  when  the  lure  of 
Canada  and  her  broad,  free  acres  caught  him,  and  he 
had  abandoned  the  law  and  with  his  wife  and  baby 
boy  had  emigrated  to  become  a  land  owner  in  the  great 
Canadian  west. 

Alas !  death,  that  rude  spoiler  of  so  many  plans,  broke 
in  upon  the  sanctity  and  perfect  peace  of  that  happy 
ranch  home  and  ravished  it  of  its  treasure,  leaving  a 
broken  hearted  man  and  a  little  boy,  orphaned  and  sickly, 
to  be  cared  for.  The  ranch  was  sold,  the  rancher  moved 
to  the  city  of  Edmonton,  thence  in  a  few  years  to  a 
little  village  some  twenty-five  miles  nearer  to  the  Foot- 
hills, where  he  became  the  Registrar  and  Homestead  In- 
spector for  the  district. 

Here  he  had  lived  ever  since,  training  the  torn  ten- 
drils of  his  heart  about  the  lad,  till  peace  came  back 
again,  though  never  the  perfect  joy  of  the  earlier  days. 
Every  May  Day  the  two  were  wont  to  go  upon  an  expedi- 
tion many  miles  into  the  Foothills,  to  a  little,  sunny 
spot,  where  a  strong,  palisaded  enclosure  held  a  little 
grave.  So  little  it  looked,  and  so  lonely  amid  the  great 
hills.  There,  not  in  an  abandonment  of  grief,  but  in 
loving  and  grateful  remembrance  of  her  whose  dust  the 
little  grave  now  held,  of  what  she  had  been  to  them, 
and  had  done  for  them,  they  spent  the  day,  returning  to 
take  up  again  with  hearts  solemn,  tender  and  chastened, 
the  daily  routine  of  life. 

That  his  son  should  grow  to  take  up  the  profession 
of  law  had  been  the  father's  dream,  but  during  his  uni- 
versity course  the  boy  had  come  under  the  compelling 
influence  of  a  spiritual  awakening  that  swept  him  into 
a  world  filled  with  new  impressions  and  other  desires. 
Obeying  what  he  felt  to  be  an  imperative  call,  the  boy 
chose  the  church  as  his  profession,  and  after  completing 
his  theological  course  in  the  city  of  Winnipeg,  and  spend- 
ing a  year  in  study  in  Germany,  while  still  a  mere  youth 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  47 

he  had  been  appointed  as  missionary  to  the  district  of 
which  his  own  village  was  the  centre. 

But  though  widely  separate  from  each  other  in  the 
matter  of  religion,  there  were  many  points  of  contact 
between  them.  They  were  both  men  of  the  great  out-of- 
doors,  and  under  his  father's  inspiration  and  direction 
the  boy  had  come  to  love  athletic  exercises  of  all  kinds. 
They  were  both  music-mad,  the  father  having  had  in 
early  youth  a  thorough  musical  education,  the  boy  pos- 
sessing musical  talent  of  a  high  order.  Such  training  as 
was  his  he  had  received  from  his  father,  but  it  was  con- 
fined to  one  single  instrument,  the  violin.  To  this  instru- 
ment, upon  which  his  father  had  received  the  tuition  of 
a  really  excellent  master,  the  son  devoted  long  hours  of 
study  and  practice  during  his  boyhood  years,  and  his 
attainments  were  such  as  to  give  promise  of  something 
more  than  an  amateur's  mastery  of  his  instrument.  His 
college  work,  however,  interfered  with  his  music,  and  to 
his  father's  great  disappointment  and  regret  he  was 
forced  to  lay  aside  his  study  of  the  violin.  On  the  piano, 
however,  the  boy  developed  an  extraordinary  power  of 
improvisation  and  of  sight  reading,  and  while  his  tech- 
nique was  faulty  his  insight,  his  power  of  interpretation 
were  far  in  excess  of  many  artists  who  were  his  superiors 
in  musical  knowledge  and  power  of  execution.  Many 
were  the  hours  the  father  and  son  spent  together  through 
the  long  evenings  of  the  western  winter,  and  among  the 
many  bonds  that  held  them  in  close  comradeship,  none 
was  stronger  than  their  common  devotion  to  music. 

Long  after  his  son  had  departed  to  his  meeting  the 
father  sat  dreaming  over  his  'cello,  wandering  among 
the  familiar  bits  from  the  old  masters  as  fancy  led  him, 
nor  was  he  aware  of  the  lapse  of  time  till  his  son  re- 
turned. 

"Hello!  Nine-thirty?"  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "You  have  given  them  an  extra  dose  to-night." 

"Business  meeting  afterwards,  which  didn't  come  off 
after  all,"  said  his  son.  "Postponed  till  next  Sunday." 


48       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

With  this  curt  announcement,  and  without  further  com- 
ment he  sat  down  at  his  desk. 

But  after  a  few  moments  he  rose  quickly,  saying,  "Let 
us  do  some  real  work,  dad." 

He  took  up  his  violin.  His  father,  who  was  used  to  his 
moods,  without  question  or  remark  proceeded  to  tune  up. 
An  hour's  hard  practice  followed,  without  word  from 
either  except  as  regarded  the  work  in  hand. 

"I  feel  better  now,  dad,"  said  the  young  man  when 
they  had  finished.  "And  now  for  a  round  with  you." 

"But  what  about  your  wind,  boy?  I  don't  like  that 
asthma  of  yours  this  afternoon." 

"I  am  quite  all  right.  It's  quite  gone.  I  feel  sure 
it  was  the  pollen  from  the  beaver  meadow." 

They  cleared  back  the  table  and  chairs  from  the  centre 
of  the  room,  stripped  to  their  shirts,  put  on  the  gloves 
and  went  at  each  other  with  vim.  Their  style  was  sim- 
ilar, for  the  father  had  taught  the  son  all  he  knew,  ex- 
cept that  the  father's  was  the  fighting  and  the  son's  the 
sparring  style.  To-night  the  roles  appeared  to  be  re- 
versed, the  son  pressing  hard  at  the  in-fighting,  the  fa- 
ther trusting  to  his  foot  work  and  countering  with  the 
light  touch  of  a  man  making  points. 

"You  are  boring  in,  aren't  you?"  said  the  father,  stop- 
ping a  fierce  rally. 

"You  are  not  playing  up,  dad,"  said  his  son.  "I  don't 
feel  like  soft  work  to-night.  Come  to  me!" 

"As  you  say,"  replied  the  father,  and  for  the  next  five 
minutes  Barry  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  soft  work, 
for  his  father  went  after  him  with  all  the  fight  that  was 
in  him,  so  that  in  spite  of  a  vigorous  defence  the  son  was 
forced  to  take  refuge  in  a  runaway  game. 

"Now  you're  going!"  shouted  the  son,  making  a  fierce 
counter  with  his  right  to  a  hard  driven  left,  which  he 
side-stepped.  It  was  a  fatal  exposure.  Like  the  dart  of 
a  snake  the  right  hand  hook  got  him  below  the  jaw,  and 
he  was  hurled  breathless  on  the  couch  at  the  side  of  the 
room. 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  49 

"Got  you  now!"  said  his  father. 

"Not  quite  yet,"  cried  Barry.  Like  a  cat  he  was  on 
his  feet,  breathing  deep  breaths,  dodging  about,  fighting 
for  time. 

"Enough!"  cried  his  father,  putting  down  his  hands. 

"Play  up!"  shouted  Barry,  who  was  rapidly  recover- 
ing his  wind.  "No  soft  work.  Watch  out !" 

Again  the  father  was  on  guard,  while  Barry,  who 
seemed  to  have  drawn  upon  some  secret  source  of 
strength,  came  at  him  with  a  whirlwind  attack,  feinting, 
jabbing,  swinging,  hooking,  till  finally  he  landed  a  short 
half  arm  on  the  jaw,  which  staggered  his  father  against 
the  wall. 

"Pax !"  cried  the  young  man.     "I  have  all  I  want." 

"Great!"  said  his  father.  "I  believe  you  could  fight, 
boy,  if  you  were  forced  to." 

In  the  shed  they  sluiced  each  other  with  pails  of  wa- 
ter, had  a  rub  down  and  got  into  their  dressing  gowns. 

"I  feel  fine,  now,  dad,  and  ready  for  anything,"  said 
Barry,  glowing  with  his  exercise  and  his  tub.  "I  was 
feeling  like  a  quitter.  I  guess  that  asthma  got  at  my 
nerve.  But  I  believe  I  will  see  it  through  some  way." 

"Yes?"  said  his  father,  and  waited. 

"Yes.  They  were  talking  blue  ruin  in  there  to-night 
Finances  are  behind,  congregation  is  running  down, 
therefore  the  preacher  is  a  failure." 

"Well,  lad,  remember  this,"  said  his  father,  "never  let 
your  liver  decide  any  course  of  action  for  you.  Some 
good  stiff  work,  a  turn  with  the  gloves,  for  instance,  is 
the  best  preparation  I  know  for  any  important  decision. 
A  man  cannot  decide  wisely  when  he  feels  grubby.  Your 
asthma  this  afternoon  is  a  symptom  of  liver." 

"It  is  humiliating  to  a  creature  endowed  with  con- 
science and  intellect  to  discover  how  small  a  part  these 
play  at  times  in  his  decisions.  The  ancients  were  not  far 
wrong  who  made  the  liver  the  seat  of  the  emotions." 

"Well,"  said  his  father,  "it  is  a  good  thing  to  remem- 


50       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

her  that  most  of  our  bad  hours  come  from  our  livers. 
So  the  preacher  is  a  failure?  Who  said  so?" 

"Oh,  a  number  of  them,  principally  Hayes." 

"Thank  God,  and  go  to  sleep,"  said  his  father.  "If 
Hayes  were  pleased  with  my  preaching  I  should  greatly 
suspect  my  call  to  the  ministry." 

"But  seriously,  I  am  certainly  not  a  great  preacher, 
and  perhaps  not  a  preacher  at  all.  They  say  I  have  no 
'pep/  which  with  some  of  them  appears  to  be  the  distinc- 
tive and  altogether  necessary  characteristic  of  a  popular 
preacher." 

"What  said  Innes  ?"  enquired  his  father. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  Innes  say  much  ?  From  his  silence 
one  would  judge  that  he  must  possess  the  accumulated 
wisdom  of  the  ages." 

"When  he  does  talk,  however,  he  generally  says  some- 
thing. What  was  his  contribution?" 

"  'Ah,  weel,'  said  the  silent  one,  'Ah  doot  he's  no  a 
Spurgeon,  not  yet  a  Billy  Sunday,  but  ye'll  hardly  be  ex- 
pectin'  thae  fowk  at  Wapiti  for  nine  hundred  dollars  a 
year.'  Then,  bless  his  old  heart,  he  added,  'But  the  bairns 
tak  to  him  like  ducks  to  water,  so  you'd  better  bide  a 
bit.'  So  they  decided  to  'bide  a  bit'  till  next  Sunday. 
Dad,  at  first  I  wanted  to  throw  their  job  in  their  faces, 
only  I  always  know  that  it  is  the  old  Adam  in  me  that 
feels  like  that,  so  I  decided  to  'bide  a  bit'  too." 

"It  is  a  poor  job,  after  all,  my  boy,"  said  his  father. 
"It's  no  gentleman's  job  the  way  it  is  carried  on  in  this 
country.  To  think  of  your  being  at  the  bidding  of  a 
creature  like  Hayes !" 

He  could  have  said  no  better  word.  The  boy's  face 
cleared  like  the  sudden  shining  of  the  sun  after  rain. 
He  lifted  his  head  and  said, 

"Thank  God,  not  at  his  bidding,  dad.  'One  is  your 
Master,'  "  he  quoted.  "But  after  all,  Hayes  has  some- 
thing good  in  him.  Do  you  know,  I  rather  like  him. 
He's " 

"Oh,  come  now,  we'll  drop  it  right  there,"  said  his 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONSCIENCE  51 

father,  in  a  disgusted  tone.  "When  you  come  to  finding 
something  to  like  in  that  rat,  I  surrender." 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  boy,  as  if  to  himself.  "Poor 
Hayes.  He  may  be  quite  a  wonderful  man,  considering 
all  things,  his  heredity  and  his  environment.  What  would 
I  have  been,  dad,  but  for  you?" 

His  father  grunted,  pulled  hard  at  his  pipe,  coughed  a 
bit,  then  looked  his  son  straight  in  the  face,  saying,  "God 
knows  what  any  of  us  owe  to  our  past."  He  fell  into 
silence.  His  mind  was  far  away,  following  his  heart  to 
the  palisaded  plot  of  ground  among  the  Foothills  and  the 
little  grave  there  in  which  he  had  covered  from  his  sight 
her  that  had  been  the  inspiration  to  his  best  and  finest 
things,  and  his  defence  against  the  things  low  and  base 
that  had  once  hounded  his  soul,  howling  hard  upon  his 
trail. 

The  son,  knowing  his  mood,  sat  in  silence  with  him, 
then  rising  suddenly  he  sat  himself  on  the  arm  of  his 
father's  chair,  threw  his  arm  around  his  shoulder  and  said, 
"Dear  old  dad !  Good  old  boy  you  are,  too.  Good  stuff ! 
What  would  I  have  been  but  for  you?  A  puny,  puling, 
wretched  little  crock',  afraid  of  anything  that  could  spit 
at  me.  Do  you  remember  the  old  gander?  I  was  near 
my  eternal  damnation  that  day." 

"But  you  won  out,  my  boy,"  said  his  father  in  a  croak- 
ing voice,  putting  his  arm  round  his  son. 

"Yes,  because  you  made  me  stick  it,  just  as  you  have 
often  made  me  stick  it  since.  May  God  forget  me  if  I 
ever  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Shall  we  read 
now?" 

He  took  the  big  Bible  from  its  place  upon  the  table, 
and  turning  the  leaves  read  aloud  from  the  teachings  of 
the  world's  greatest  Master.  It  was  the  parable  of  the 
talents. 

"Rather  hard  on  the  failure,"  he  said  as  he  closed  the 
book. 

"No,  not  the  failure,"  said  his  father,  "the  slacker,  the 


52       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

quitter.  It  is  nature's  law.  There  is  no  place  in  God's 
universe  for  a  quitter." 

"You  are  right,  dad,"  said  Barry.    "Good-night." 

He  kissed  his  father,  as  he  had  ever  done  since  his 
earliest  infancy.  Their  prayers  were  said  in  private,  the 
son,  clergyman  though  he  was,  could  never  bring  him- 
self to  offer  to  lead  the  devotions  of  him  at  whose  knee 
he  had  kneeled  every  night  of  his  life,  as  a  boy,  for  his 
evening  prayer. 

"Good-night,  boy,"  said  his  father,  holding  him  by 
the  hand  for  a  moment  or  so.  "We  do  not  know  what 
is  before  us,  defeat,  loss,  suffering.  That  part  is  not 
in  our  hands  altogether,  but  the  shame  of  the  quitter 
never  need,  and  never  shall  be  ours." 

The  little  man  stepped  into  his  bedroom  with  his 
shoulders  squaad  and  his  head  erect. 

"By  Jove!  He's  no  quitter,"  said  his  son  to  himself, 
as  his  eyes  followed  him.  "When  he  quits  he'll  be  dead. 
God  keep  me  from  shaming  him!" 


CHAPTER   IV 

REJECTED 

hour  for  the  church  service  had  not  quite  ar- 
JL  rived,  but  already  a  number  of  wagons,  buckboards 
and  buggies  had  driven  up  and  deposited  their  loads  at 
the  church  door.  The  women  had  passed  into  the  church, 
where  the  Sunday  School  was  already  in  session;  the 
men  waited  outside,  driven  by  the  heat  of  the  July  sun 
and  the  hotter  July  wind  into  the  shade  of  the  church 
building. 

Through  the  church  windows  came  the  droning  of 
voices,  with  now  and  then  a  staccato  rapping  out  of  com- 
mands heard  above  the  droning. 

"That's  Hayes,"  said  a  sturdy  young  chap,  brown  as 
an  Indian,  lolling  upon  the  grass.  "He  likes  to  be  boss- 
ing something." 

"That's  so,  Ewen,"  replied  a  smaller  man,  with  a  fish- 
like  face,  his  mouth  and  nose  running  into  a  single  fea- 
ture. 

"I  guess  he's  doin'  his  best,  Nathan  Pilley,"  answered 
another  man,  stout  and  stocky,  with  bushy  side  whiskers 
flanking  around  a  rubicund  face,  out  of  which  stared 
two  prominent  blue  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  he  is,  Mr.  Boggs.  I  have  no  word  agin 
Hayes,"  replied  Nathan  Pilley,  a  North  Ontario  man, 
who,  abandoning  a  rocky  farm  :n  Muskoka,  had  strayed 
to  this  far  west  country  in  search  of  better  fortune.  "I 
have  no  word  agin  Mr.  Hayes,  Mr.  Boggs,"  he  reiter- 
ated. "In  fact,  I  think  he  ought  to  be  highly  commended 
for  his  beneficent  work." 

"But  he  does  like  to  hear  himself  giving  out  orders, 
all  the  same."  oersisted  the  young  man  addressed  as 
Ewen. 

53 


54       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Yes,  he  seems  to  sorter  enjoy  that,  too,  Ewen," 
agreed  Nathan,  who  was  never  known  to  oppose  any 
man's  opinion. 

"He's  doin'  his  best,"  insisted  Mr.  Boggs,  rather 
sullenly. 

"Yes,  he  is  that,  Mr.  Boggs,  he  is  that,"  said  Nathan. 

"But  he  likes  to  be  the  big  toad  in  the  puddle,"  said 
Ewen. 

"Well,  he  certainly  seems  to,  he  does  indeed,  Ewen." 

Clear  over  the  droning  there  arose  at  this  point  an- 
other sound,  a  chorus  of  childish  laughter. 

"That's  the  preacher's  class,"  said  Boggs.  "Quare 
sort  o'  Sunday  School  where  the  kids  carry  on  like  that." 

"Seems  rather  peculiar,"  agreed  Nathan,  "peculiar  in 
Sunday  School,  it  does." 

"What's  the  matter  with  young  Pickles?"  enquired 
Ewen. 

The  eyes  of  the  company,  following  the  pointing  fin- 
ger, fell  upon  young  Pickles  standing  at  the  window  of 
the  little  vestry  to  the  church,  and  looking  in.  He  was 
apparently  convulsed  with  laughter,  with  his  hand  hard 
upon  his  mouth  and  nose  as  a  kind  of  silencer. 

"Do  you  know  what's  the  matter  with  him,  Pat?"  con- 
tinued Ewen. 

Pat  McCann,  the  faithful  friend  and  shadow  of  young 
Pickles,  after  studying  the  attitude  and  motions  of  his 
friend,  gave  answer: 

"It's  the  preacher,  I  guess.  He's  kiddin'  the  kids  in- 
side. He's  some  kidder,  too,"  he  said,  moving  to  take 
his  place  beside  his  friend. 

"What's  he  doing  anyway?"  said  Ewen.  "I'm  going 
to  see." 

Gradually  a  little  company  gathered  behind  young 
Pickles  and  Pat  McCann.  The  window  commanded  a 
view  of  the  room,  yet  in  such  a  way  that  the  group  were 
unobserved  by  the  speaker. 

"Say,  you  ought  to  seen  him  do  the  camel  a  minute 
ago,"  whispered  Pickles. 


REJECTED  55 

In  the  little  vestry  room  were  packed  some  twenty  chil- 
dren of  all  ages  and  sizes,  with  a  number  of  grown- 
ups who  had  joined  the  class  in  charge  of  some  of  its 
younger  members.  There  was,  for  instance,  Mrs.  Innes, 
with  the  two  youngest  of  her  numerous  progeny  pil- 
lowed against  her  yielding  and  billowy  person ;  and  Mrs. 
Stewart  Duff,  an  infant  of  only  a  few  weeks  upon  her 
knee  accounting  sufficiently  for  the  paleness  of  her  sweet 
face,  and  two  or  three  other  women  with  their  small 
children  filling  the  bench  that  ran  along  the  wall. 

"Say !  look  at  Harry  Hobbs,"  said  Pat  McCann  to  his 
friend. 

Upon  the  stove,  which  in  summer  was  relegated  to 
the  corner  of  the  room,  sat  Harry  Hobbs,  a  man  of  any 
age  from  his  appearance,  thin  and  wiry,  with  keen,  dart- 
ing eyes,  which  now,  however,  were  fastened  upon  the 
preacher.  All  other  eyes  were,  too.  Even  the  smallest 
of  the  children  seated  on  the  front  bench  were  gazing 
with  mouths  wide  open,  as  if  fascinated,  upon  the 
preacher  who,  moving  up  and  down  with  quick,  lithe 
steps,  was  telling  them  a  story.  A  wonderful  story,  too, 
it  seemed,  the  wonder  of  it  apparent  in  the  riveted  eyes 
and  fixed  faces.  It  was  the  immortal  story,  matchless  in 
the  language,  of  Joseph,  the  Hebrew  shepherd  boy,  who, 
sold  into  slavery  by  his  brethren,  became  prime  minis- 
ter of  the  mighty  empire  of  Egypt.  The  voice  tone  of 
the  minister,  now  clear  and  high,  now  low  and  soft,  vi- 
brating like  the  deeper  notes  of  the  'cello,  was  made 
for  story  telling.  Changing  with  every  changing  emo- 
tion, it  formed  an  exquisite  medium  to  the  hearts  of  the 
listeners  for  the  exquisite  music  of  the  tale. 

The  story  was  approaching  its  climactic  denouement; 
the  rapturous  moment  of  the  younger  brother's  revealing 
was  at  hand ;  Judah,  the  older  brother,  was  now  holding 
the  centre  of  the  stage  and  making  that  thrilling  ap- 
peal, than  which  nothing  more  moving  is  to  be  found 
in  our  English  speech.  The  preacher's  voice  was  throb- 
bing with  all  the  pathos  of  the  tale.  Motionless,  the  little 


56       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

group  hung  hard  upon  the  story-teller,  when  the  door 
opened  quickly,  a  red  head  appeared,  a  rasping  voice 
broke  in: 

"Your  class  report,  Mr.  Dunbar,  please.  We're  wait- 
ing for  it." 

A  sigh  of  disappointment  and  regret  swept  the  room. 

"Oh,  darn  the  little  woodpecker !"  said  Ewen  from  the 
outside,  in  a  disgusted  tone.  "That's  the  way  with  Hayes. 
He  thinks  he's  the  whole  works,  and  that  he  never  can 
get  in  wrong." 

The  spell  was  broken,  never  to  be  renewed.  The 
story  hurried  to  its  close,  but  the  great  climax  failed  of 
its  proper  effect. 

"He's  a  hummer,  ain't  he?"  exclaimed  young  Pickles 
to  his  friend,  Pat  McCann. 

"Some  hummer,  and  then  some!"  replied  Pat. 

"I'm  goin'  in,"  said  Pickles. 

"Aw,  what  for?  He  ain't  no  good  preachin'  to  them 
folks.  By  gum!  I  think  he's  scared  of  'em." 

But  Pickles  persisted,  and  followed  with  the  men  and 
boys  who  lounged  lazily  into  the  church,  from  which 
the  Sunday  School  had  now  been  dismissed. 

It  appeared  that  the  judgment  of  Pat  McCann  upon 
the  merits  of  the  preacher  would  be  echoed  by  the  ma- 
jority of  the  congregation  present.  While  the  service 
was  conducted  in  proper  form  and  in  reverent  spirit, 
the  sermon  was  marked  by  that  most  unpardonable  sin 
of  which  sermons  can  be  guilty;  it  was  dull.  Solid 
enough  in  matter,  thoughtful  beyond  the  average,  it  was 
delivered  in  a  style  appallingly  wooden,  with  an  utter 
absence  of  that  arresting,  dramatic  power  that  the 
preacher  had  shown  in  his  children's  class. 

The  appearance  of  the  congregation  was,  as  ever,  a 
reflection  of  the  sermon.  The  heat  of  the  day,  the  re- 
action from  the  long  week  in  the  open  air,  the  quiet 
monotony  of  the  well  modulated  voice  rising  and  falling 
in  regular  cadence  in  what  is  supposed  by  so  many 
preachers  to  be  the  tone  suitable  for  any  sacred  office. 


REJECTED  57 

produced  an  overwhelmingly  somnolent  effect.  Many  of 
them  slept,  some  frankly  and  openly,  others  under  cover 
of  shading  hands,  bowed  heads,  or  other  subterfuges. 
Others  again  spent  the  whole  of  the  period  of  the  ser- 
mon, except  for  some  delicious  moments  of  surreptitious 
sleep,  in  a  painful  but  altogether  commendable  struggle 
against  the  insidious  influence  of  the  god  of  slumber. 

Among  the  latter  was  Mrs.  Innes,  whose  loyalty  to  her 
minister,  which  was  as  much  a  part  of  her  as  her  breath- 
ing, contended  in  a  vigorous  fight  against  her  much  too 
solid  flesh.  It  was  a  certain  aid  to  wakefulness  that 
her  two  children,  deep  in  audible  slumber,  kept  her  in 
a  state  of  active  concern  lest  their  inert  and  rotund  little 
masses  of  slippery  flesh  should  elude  her  grasp,  and 
wreck  the  proprieties  of  the  hour  by  flopping  on  the 
floor.  There  was  also  a  further  sleep  deterrent  in  the 
fact  that  immediately  before  her  sat  Mr.  McFettridge, 
whose  usually  erect  form,  yielding  to  the  soporific  influ- 
ences of  the  environment,  showed  a  tendency  gradually 
to  sag  into  an  attitude,  relaxed  and  formless,  which 
suggested  sleep.  This,  to  the  lady  behind  him,  partook 
of  the  nature  of  an  affront  to  her  minister.  Conse- 
quently she  considered  it  her  duty  to  arouse  the  snoozing 
McFettridge  with  a  vigorous  poke  in  the  small  of  the 
back. 

The  effect  was  instantaneously  apparent.  As  if  her 
insistent  finger  had  touched  a  button  and  released  an 
electric  current,  Mr.  McFettridge's  sagging  form  shot 
convulsively  into  rigidity,  and  impinging  violently  upon 
the  peacefully  slumbering  Mr.  Boggs  on  the  extreme  end 
of  the  bench,  toppled  him  over  into  the  aisle. 

The  astonished  Boggs,  finding  himself  thus  deposited 
upon  the  floor,  and  beholding  the  irate  face  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Fettridge glooming  down  upon  him,  and  fancying  him 
to  be  the  cause  of  his  present  humiliating  position,  sprang 
to  his  feet,  swung  a  violent  blow  upon  Mr.  Fettridge's 
ear,  exclaiming  sotto  voce: 


58       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Take  that,  will  you!  And  mind  your  own  business! 
You  were  sleeping  yourself,  anyway!" 

Before  the  astonished  and  enraged  Mr.  McFettridge 
could  gather  his  wits  sufficiently  for  action,  there  rang 
over  the  astonished  congregation  a  peal  of  boyish  laugh- 
ter. It  was  from  the  minister.  A  few  irrepressible 
youngsters  joined  in  the  laugh;  the  rest  of  the  congre- 
gation, however,  were  held  rigid  in  the  grip  of  a  shocked 
amazement. 

"Oh,  I  say!  do  forgive  me,  Mr.  McFettridge!"  cried 
the  young  man  at  the  desk.  "It  was  quite  involuntary, 
I  assure  you."  Then,  quickly  recovering  himself,  he 
added,  "And  now  we  shall  conclude  the  service  by  sing- 
ing the  seventy-ninth  hymn." 

Before  the  last  verse  was  sung  he  reminded  the  audi- 
ence of  the  congregational  meeting  immediately  follow- 
ing, and  without  further  comment  the  service  was 
brought  to  a  close. 

A  number  of  the  congregation,  among  them  Barry's 
father,  departed. 

"Sit  down,  Neil,"  said  Mrs.  Innes  to  Neil  Eraser. 
"You'll  be  wanted  I  doot."  And  Neil,,  protesting  that 
he  knew  nothing  about  church  business,  sat  down. 

At  the  back  of  the  church  were  gathered  Harry  Hobbs, 
young  Pickles,  and  others  of  the  less  important  attend- 
ants of  the  church,  who  had  been  induced  to  remain  by 
the  rumour  of  a  "scrap." 

By  a  fatal  mischance,  the  pliant  Nathan  Pilley  was 
elected  chairman.  This  gentleman  was  obsessed  by  the 
notion  that  he  possessed  in  a  high  degree  the  two  quali- 
ties which  he  considered  essential  to  the  harmonious  and 
expeditious  conduct  of  a  public  meeting,  namely,  an  in- 
vincible determination  to  agree  with  every  speaker,  and 
an  equally  invincible  determination  to  get  motions  passed. 

In  a  rambling  and  aimless  speech,  Mr.  Pilley  set  forth 
in  a  somewhat  general  way  the  steps  leading  up  to  this 
meeting,  and  then  called  upon  Mr.  Innes,  the  chairman 


REJECTED  59 

of  the  Board  of  Management,  to  state  more  specifically 
the  object  for  which  it  was  called. 

Mr.  Innes,  who  was  incurably  averse  to  voluble  speech, 
whether  public  or  private,  arose  and  said,  in  rolling 
Doric : 

"Weel,  Mr.  Chair-r-man,  there's  no  much  to  be  done. 
We're  behind  a  few  hundred  dollars,  but  if  some  one 
will  go  about  wi'  a  bit  paper,  nae  doot  the  ar-rear-rs.wad 
soon  be  made  up,  and  everything  wad  be  ar-richt." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Pilley  pleasantly.  "Now  will 
some  one  offer  a  motion?" 

Thereupon  Mr.  Hayes  was  instantly  upon  his  feet, 
and  in  a  voice  thin  and  rasping  exclaimed: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  there's  business  to  be  done,  and  we 
are  here  to  do  it,  and  we're  not  going  to  be  rushed 
through  in  this  way." 

"Exactly,  Mr.  Hayes,  exactly,"  said  Mr.  Pilley.  "We 
must  give  these  matters  the  fullest  consideration." 

Then  followed  a  silence. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Hayes "  continued  the  chairman, 

looking  appealingly  at  that  gentleman. 

"Well,  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Mr.  Hayes,  with  an  ap- 
peased but  slightly  injured  air,  "it  is  not  my  place  to 
set  forth  the  cause  of  this  meeting  being  called.  If 
the  chairman  of  the  board  would  do  his  duty" — here  he 
glared  at  the  unconscious  Mr.  Innes — "he  would  set  be- 
fore it  the  things  that  have  made  this  meeting  necessary, 
and  that  call  for  drastic  action." 

"Hear!    Hear!"  cried  Mr.  Boggs. 

"Exactly  so,"  acquiesced  the  chairman.  "Please  con- 
tinue, Mr.  Hayes." 

Mr.  Hayes  continued:  "The  situation  briefly  is  this: 
We  are  almost  hopelessly  in  debt,  and " 

"How  much?"  enquired  Neil  Fraser,  briskly  interrupt- 
ing. 

"Seven  hundred  dollars,"  replied  Mr.  Hayes,  "and 
further " 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Mr.  Innes. 


60       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  have  examined  the  treasurer's  books,"  said  Mr. 
Hayes  in  the  calmly  triumphant  tone  of  one  sure  of  his 
position,  "and  I  find  the  amount  to  be  seven  hundred 
dollars,  and  therefore " 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  repeated  Mr.  Innes,  gazing 
into  space. 

"Seven  hundred  dollars,  I  say,"  snapped  Mr.  Hayes. 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  reiterated  Mr.  Innes,  without 
further  comment. 

"I  say  I  have  examined  the  books.  The  arrears  are 
seven  hundred  dollars." 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Mr.  Innes  calmly. 

The  youngsters  at  the  back  snickered. 

"Go  to  it!"  said  Harry  Hobbs,  under  his  breath. 

Even  the  minister,  who  was  sitting  immediately  be- 
hind Harry,  could  not  restrain  a  smile. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  cried  Mr.  Hayes,  indignantly,  "I  ap- 
peal against  this  interruption.  I  assert " 

"Where's  the  treasurer?"  said  Neil  Fraser.  "What's 
the  use  of  this  chewin'  the  rag?" 

"Ah!  Exactly  so,"  said  the  chairman,  greatly  re- 
lieved. "Mr.  Boggs Perhaps  Mr.  Boggs  will  en- 
lighten us." 

Mr.  Boggs  arose  with  ponderous  deliberation. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "in  one  sense  Mr.  Hayes  is 
right  when  he  states  the  arrears  to  be  seven  hundred 
dollars " 

"Five  hundred  dollars  A'm  tellin'  ye,"  said  Mr.  Innes 
with  the  first  sign  of  feeling  he  had  shown. 

"And  Mr.  Innes  is  also  right,"  continued  Mr.  Boggs, 
ignoring  the  interruption,  "when  he  makes  the  arrears 
five  hundred  dollars,  the  two  hundred  dollars  difference 
being  the  quarterly  revenue  now  due." 

"Next  week,"  said  Mr.  Innes,  reverting  to  his  wonted 
calm. 

"Exactly  so,"  said  the  chairman,  rubbing  his  hands 
amiably;  "so  that  the  seven  hundred  dollars  we  now 
owe " 


REJECTED  61 

This  was  too  much  even  for  the  imperturbable  Mr. 
Innes. 

He  arose  in  his  place,  moved  out  into  the  aisle,  ad- 
vanced toward  the  platform,  and  with  arm  outstretched, 
exclaimed  in  wrathful  tones: 

"Mon,  did  ye  no  hear  me  tellin*  ye  ?  I  want  nae  mon 
to  mak'  me  a  le-ear." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Stewart  Duff,  who  had  come  to  con- 
vey his  wife  home,  and  had  got  tired  waiting  for  her 
outside,  entered  the  church. 

"Oh,  get  on  with  the  business,"  said  Neil  Fraser,  who, 
although  enjoying  the  scene,  was  becoming  anxious  for 
his  dinner.  "The  question  what's  to  be  done  with  the 
five  hundred  dollars'  arrears.  I  say,  let's  make  it  up 
right  here.  I  am  willing  to  give " 

"No,  Mr.  Chairman,"  shouted  Mr.  Hayes,  who  was 
notoriously  averse  to  parting  with  his  money,  and  was 
especially  fearful  of  a  public  subscription. 

"There  is  something  more  than  mere  arrears — much 
more " 

"Ay,  there  is,"  emphatically  declared  Mr.  McFettridge, 
rising  straight  and  stiff.  "I'm  for  plain  speakin'.  The 
finances  is  not  the  worst  about  this  congregation.  The 
congregation  has  fallen  off.  Other  churches  in  this  village 
has  good  congregations.  Why  shouldn't  we?  The 
truth  is,  Mr.  Chairman," — Mr.  McFettridge's  voice  rolled 
deep  and  sonorous  over  the  audience — "we  want  a  popu- 
lar preacher — a  preacher  that  draws — a  preacher  with 
some  pep." 

"Hear!  hear!"  cried  Mr.  Boggs.  "Pep's  what  we  want 
That's  it— pep." 

"Pep,"  echoed  the  chairman.     "Exactly  so,  pep." 

"More  than  that,"  continued  Mr.  McFettridge,  "we 
want  a  minister  that's  a  good  mixer — one  that  stands  in 
with  the  boys." 

"Hear!   Hear!"  cried  Mr.  Boggs  again. 

"A  mixer!  Exactly!"  agreed  the  chairman.  "A 
mixer!"  nodding  pleasantly  at  Mr.  Boggs. 


62       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"And  another  thing  I  will  say,"  continued  Mr.  McFet- 
tridge,  "now  that  I  am  on  my  feet.  We  want  a  preacher 
that  will  stick  to  his  job — that  will  preach  the  gospel 
and  not  go  meddlin'  with  other  matters — with  politics 
and  such  like." 

"Or  prohibition,"  shouted  Harry  Hobbs  from  the  rear, 
to  the  undiluted  joy  of  the  youngsters  in  his  vicinity. 

The  minister  shook  his  head  at  him. 

"Yes,  prohibition,"  answered  Mr.  McFettridge,  facing 
toward  the  rear  of  the  church  defiantly.  "Let  him  stick 
to  his  preaching  the  gospel ;  I  believe  the  time  has  come 
for  a  change  and  I'm  prepared  to  make  a  motion  that 
we  ask  our  minister  to  resign,  and  that  motion  I  now 
make." 

"Second  the  motion,"  cried  Mr.  Boggs  promptly. 

"You  have  heard  the  motion,"  said  the  chairman,  with 
business-like  promptitude.  "Are  you  ready  for  the  ques- 
tion?" 

"Question,"  said  Mr.  Hayes,  after  a  few  moments'  si- 
lence, broken  by  the  shuffling  of  some  members  in  their 
seats,  and  by  the  audible  whispering  of  Mrs.  Innes,  evi- 
dently exhorting  her  husband  to  action. 

"Then  all  those  in  favour  of  the  motion  will 
please " 

Then  from  behind  the  organ  a  little  voice  piped  up, 
"Does  this  mean,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  we  lose  our  min- 
ister?" 

It  was  Miss  Quigg,  a  lady  whose  years  no  gallantry 
could  set  below  forty,  for  her  appearance  indicated  that 
she  was  long  past  the  bloom  of  her  youth.  She  was 
thin,  almost  to  the  point  of  frailness,  with  sharp,  deli- 
cately cut  features;  but  the  little  chin  was  firm,  and  a 
flash  of  the  brown  eyes  revealed  a  fiery  soul  within.  Miss 
Quigg  was  the  milliner  and  dressmaker  of  the  village, 
and  was  herself  a  walking  model  of  her  own  exquisite 
taste  in  clothes  and  hats.  It  was  only  her  failing  health 
that  had  driven  her  to  abandon  a  much  larger  sphere 
than  her  present  position  offered,  but  even  here  her 


REJECTED  63 

fame  was  such  as  to  draw  to  her  little  shop  customers 
from  the  villages  round  about  for  many  miles. 

"Does  this  mean,  sir,  that  Mr.  Dunbar  will  leave  us?" 
she  repeated. 

"Well, — yes,  madam — that  is,  Miss,  I  suppose,  in  a 
way — practically  it  would  amount  to  that." 

"Will  you  tell  me  yes  or  no,  please,"  Miss  Quigg' s  neat 
little  figure  was  all  a-quiver  to  ti.e  tips  of  her  hat  plumes. 

"Well,"  said  the  chairman,  squirming  under  the  un- 
pleasant experience  of  being  forced  to  a  definite  answer, 
"I  suppose, — yes." 

Miss  Quigg  turned  from  the  squirming  and  smiling 
Mr.  Pilley  in  contempt. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "I  say  no.  And  I  believe  there  are 
many  here  who  would  say  no — and  men,  too."  The 
wealth  of  indignation  and  contemptuous  scorn  infused 
into  the  word  by  which  the  difference  in  sex  of  the  hu- 
man species  was  indicated,  made  those  unhappy  individ- 
uals glance  shamefacedly  at  each  other — "only  they  are 
too  timid,  the  creatures!  or  too  indifferent." 

Again  there  was  an  exchange  of  furtive  glances  and 
smiles  and  an  uneasy  shifting  of  position  on  the  part 
of  "the  creatures." 

"But  if  you  give  them  time,  Mr.  Chairman,  I  believe 
they  will  perhaps  get  up  courage  enough  to  speak." 

Miss  Quigg  sat  down  in  her  place  behind  the  organ, 
disappearing  quite  from  view  except  for  the  tips  of  her 
plumes,  whose  rapid  and  rhythmic  vibrations  were  elo- 
quent of  the  beating  of  her  gallant  little  heart. 

"Exactly  so,"  said  the  chairman,  in  confused  but 
hearty  acquiescence.  "Perhaps  some  one  will  say  some- 
thing." 

Then  Mr.  Innes,  forced  to  a  change  of  position  by  the 
physical  discomfort  caused  by  his  wife's  prodding,  rose 
and  said, 

"I  dinna  see  the  need  o'  any  change.  Mr.  Dunbar  is  no 
a  great  preacher,  but  Ah  doot  he  does  his  best.  And 
the  bairns  all  like  him." 


64       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Then  the  congregation  had  a  thrill.  In  the  back  seat 
rose  Harry  Hobbs. 

"I'm  near  forty  years  old,"  he  cried,  in  a  high  nasal 
tone  that  indicated  a  state  of  extreme  nervous  tension, 
"and  I  never  spoke  in  meetin'  before.  I  ain't  had  no 
use  for  churches  and  preachers,  and  I  guess  they  hadn't 
no  use  for  me.  You  folks  all  know  me.  I've  been  in 
this  burg  for  near  eight  years,  and  I  was  a  drinkin', 
swearin',  fightin'  cuss.  This  preacher  came  into  the  barn 
one  day  when  I  was  freezin'  to  death  after  a  big  spree. 
He  tuk  me  home  with  him  and  kep'  me  there  for  two 
weeks,  settin'  up  nights  with  me,  too.  Let  me  be,"  he 
said  impatiently  to  Barry,  who  was  trying  to  pull  him 
down  to  his  seat.  "I'm  agoin'  to  speak  this  time  if  it 
kills  me.  Many  a  time  I  done  him  dirt  sence  then,  but 
he  stuck  to  me,  and  never  quit  till  he  got  me  turned 
'round.  I  was  goin'  straight  to  hell ;  he  says  I'm  goin'  to 
heaven  now."  Here  he  laughed  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 
"I  dunno.  But,  by  gum!  if  you  fire  him  and  do  him 
dirt,  I  don't  know  what'll  become  of  me,  but  I  guess  I'll 
go  straight  to  hell  again." 

"No,  Harry,  no  you  won't.  You'll  keep  right  on, 
Harry,  straight  to  heaven."  It  was  the  preacher's  voice, 
full  of  cheery  confidence. 

Mrs.  Innes  was  audibly  sniffling;  Mrs.  Stewart  Duff 
wiping  her  eyes.  It  was  doubtless  this  sight  that  brought 
her  husband  to  his  feet. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  the  trouble  is  here,"  he  said. 
"I  understand  there  are  arrears.  I  heard  some  criticism 
of  the  minister's  preaching.  I  can't  say  I  care  much  for 
it  myself,  but  I  want  to  say  right  here  that  there  are 
other  things  wanted  in  a  minister,  and  this  young  fellow 
has  got  some  of  them.  If  he  stays,  he  gets  my  money; 
if  he  doesn't,  no  one  else  does.  I'll  make  you  gentle- 
men who  are  kicking  about  finances  a  sporting  proposi- 
tion. I'm  willing  to  double  my  subscription,  if  any  other 
ten  men  will  cover  my  ante." 


REJECTED  65 

"I'll  call  you,"  said  Neil  Eraser,  "and  I'll  raise  you 
one." 

"I'm  willing  to  meet  Mr.  Duff  and  Mr.  Fraser,"  said 
Miss  Quigg,  rising  from  behind  her  organ  with  a  tri- 
umphant smile  on  her  face. 

"I  ain't  got  much  money,"  said  Harry  Hobbs,  "but 
I'll  go  you  just  half  what  I  earn  if  you'll  meet  me  on  that 
proposition." 

"Ah  may  say,"  said  Mr.  Innes,  yielding  to  his  wife's 
vigorous  vocal  and  physical  incitations,  "A'm  prepair-r-ed 
to  male'  a  substantial  increase  in  my  subscreeption — 
that  is,  if  necessary,"  he  added  cautiously. 

Then  Barry  came  forward  from  the  back  of  the  church 
and  stood  before  the  platform.  After  looking  them  over 
for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  he  said,  in  a  voice  clear, 
quiet,  but  with  a  ring  in  it  that  made  it  echo  in  every 
heart : 

"Had  it  not  been  for  these  last  speeches,  it  would  have 
been  unnecessary  to  allow  the  motion  to  go  before  you. 
I  could  not  have  remained  where  I  am  not  wanted.  But 
now  I  am  puzzled,  I  confess,  I  am  really  puzzled  to  know 
what  to  do.  I  am  not  a  great  preacher,  I  know,  but  then 
there  are  worse.  I  don't,  at  least  I  think  I  don't,  talk 
nonsense.  And  I  am  not  what  Mr.  McFettridge  calls  a 
'good  mixer.'  On  the  other  hand,  I  think  Mr.  Innes  is 
right  when  he  says  the  bairns  like  me;  at  least,  it  would 
break" — he  paused,  his  lip  quivering,  then  he  went  on 
quietly — "it  would  be  very  hard  to  think  they  didn't." 

"They  do  that,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Innes,  emphatically. 

"So  you  see,  it  is  really  very  difficult  to  know  what  to 
do.  I  would  hate  to  go  away,  but  it  might  be  right  to 
go  away.  I  suggest  you  let  me  have  a  week  to  think  it 
over.  Can  you  wait  that  long?" 

His  handsome,  boyish  face,  alight  with  a  fine  glow  of 
earnestness  and  sincerity,  made  irresistible  appeal  to  all 
but  those  who  for  personal  reasons  were  opposed  to  him. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  voice  delibera- 
tive and  quite  detached,  "there  are  a  number  of  things  to 


66       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

think  about.  Those  arrears,  for  instance,  are  hardly  my 
fault — at  least,  not  altogether.  I  was  looking  over  the 
treasurer's  books  the  other  day,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
find  how  many  had  apparently  quite  forgotten  to  pay 
their  church  subscription.  It  is  no  doubt  just  an  over- 
sight. For  instance,"  he  added,  in  the  confidential  tone 
of  one  imparting  interesting  and  valuable  information, 
"you  will  be  surprised  to  learn,  Mr.  Duff,  that  you  are 
twenty-five  dollars  behind  in  your  payments." 

At  this  Neil  Eraser  threw,  back  his  head  with  a  loud 
laugh.  "Touche!"  he  said,  in  a  joyous  undertone. 

The  minister  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  went 
on,  "And  while  Mr.  Innes  and  Miss  Quigg  are  both  paid 
up  in  full,  Mr.  Hayes  has  apparently  neglected  to  pay 
his  last  quarter." 

"Hit  him  again,"  murmured  Harry  Hobbs,  while  Mr. 
Hayes  rose  in  virtuous  indignation. 

"I  protest,  Mr.  Chairman!"  he  cried,  "against  these 
personalities." 

"Oh,  you  quite  mistake  me,  Mr.  Hayes,"  said  the 
preacher,  "these  are  not  personalities.  I  am  simply  show- 
ing how  easy  it  is  for  arrears  to  arise,  and  that  it  may 
not  be  my  fault  at  all.  Of  course,  it  may  be  right  for  me 
to  resign.  I  don't  know  about  that  yet,  but  I  want  to  be 
very  sure.  It  would  be  easier  to  resign,  but  I  don't  want 
to  be  a  quitter." 

"I  move  we  adjourn,"  said  Neil  Fraser. 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Stewart  Duff.  The  mo- 
tion was  carried,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 

At  the  door  the  minister  stood  shaking  hands  with  all 
as  they  passed  out,  making  no  distinction  in  the  hearti- 
ness with  which  he  greeted  all  his  parishioners.  To  Miss 
Quigg,  however,  he  said,  "Thank  you.  You  were  splen- 
didly plucky." 

"Nonsense !"  cried  the  little  lady,  the  colour  flaming  in 
her  faded  cheeks.  "But,"  she  added  hastily,  "you  did 
that  beautifully,  and  he  deserved  it,  the  little  beast!" 


REJECTED  67 

"Solar  plexus !"  said  Neil  Eraser,  who  was  immediately 
behind  Miss  Quigg. 

The  minister  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  in  per- 
plexity, as  they  passed  out  of  the  door. 

"But,  you  know,  I  was  only " 

"Oh,  yes,  we  know,"  cried  Miss  Quigg.  "But  if  those 
men  would  only  take  hold !  Oh,  those  men !"  She  turned 
upon  Neil  Fraser  and  shook  her  head  at  him  violently. 

"I  know,  Miss  Quigg.  We  are  a  hopeless  and  help- 
less lot.  But  we're  going  to  reform." 

"You  need  to,  badly,"  she  said.  "But  you  need  some 
one  to  reform  you.  Look  at  Mr.  Duff  there,  how  vastly 
improved  he  is,"  and  she  waved  her  hand  to  that  gen- 
tleman, who  was  driving  away  with  his  wife  in  their 
buckboard. 

"He  is  a  perfect  dear,"  sighed  Mrs.  Duff,  as  she  bowed 
to  the  minister.  "And  you,  too,  Stewart,"  she  added, 
giving  his  arm  a  little  squeeze,  "you  said  just  the  right 
thing  when  those  horrid  people  were  going  to  turn  him 
out." 

"Say !  Your  preacher  isn't  so  bad  after  all,"  said  her 
husband.  "Wasn't  that  a  neat  one  for  old  Hayes?" 

"He  rather  got  you,  though,  Stewart." 

"Yes,  he  did,  by  Jove !  Not  the  first  time,  either,  he's 
done  it.  But  I  must  look  after  that.  Say,  he's  the  limit 
for  freshness  though.  Or  is  it  freshness?  I'm  not  quite 
sure." 

"Will  he  stay  with  us?"  said  his  wife.  "I  really  do 
hope  he  will." 

"Guess  he'll  stay  all  right.  He  won't  give  up  his  job," 
said  her  husband. 

But  next  week  proved  Mr.  Duff  a  poor  prophet,  for 
the  minister  after  the  service  informed  his  people  that 
he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  another  man  might 
get  better  results  as  minister  of  the  congregation ;  he  had 
therefore  handed  in  his  resignation  to  the  Presbytery. 

It  was  a  shock  to  them  all,  but  he  adhered  to  his  reso- 
lution in  spite  of  tearful  lamentations  from  the  women, 


68       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

wide-eyed  amazement  and  dismay  from  the  bairns  of  the 
congregation,  and  indignation,  loudly  expressed,  from 
Neil  Fraser  and  Stewart  Duff,  and  others  of  their  kind. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Quigg,  struggling  with  indignant 
tears,  as  she  was  passing  out  of  the  church,  "you  won't 
see  Harry  Hobbs  in  this  church  again,  nor  me,  either." 

"Oh,  yes,  Miss  Quigg,  Harry  has  promised  me  that  he 
will  stick  by  the  church,  and  that  he  will  be  there  every 
Sunday.  And  so  will  you,  dear  Miss  Quigg.  I  know 
you.  You  will  do  what  is  right." 

But  that  little  lady,  with  her  head  very  erect  and  a 
red  spot  burning  in  each  faded  cheek,  passed  out  of  the 
church  saying  nothing,  the  plumes  on  her  jaunty  little 
hat  quivering  defiance  and  wrath  against  "those  men, 
who  had  so  little  spunk  as  to  allow  a  little  beast  like 
Hayes  to  run  them." 


CHAPTER    V 

THE   WAR  DRUM    CALLS 

WELL,  dad,"  said  Barry  next  evening  as  they  were 
sitting  in  the  garden  after  tea,  "I  feel  something 
like  Mohammed's  coffin,  detached  from  earth  but  not 
yet  ascended  into  heaven.  It's  unpleasant  to  be  out  of 
a  job.  I  confess  I  shall  always  cherish  a  more  intelli- 
gent sympathy  henceforth  for  the  great  unemployed. 
But  cheer  up,  dad !  You  are  taking  this  thing  much  too 
seriously.  The  world  is  wide,  and  there  is  something 
waiting  me  that  I  can  do  better  than  any  one  else." 

But  the  father  had  little  to  say.  He  felt  bitterly  the 
humiliation  to  which  his  son  had  been  subjected. 

Barry  refused  to  see  the  humiliation. 

"Why  should  I  not  resign  if  I  decide  it  is  my  duty  so 
to  do?  And  why,  on  the  other  hand,  should  not  they 
have  the  right  to  terminate  my  engagement  with  them 
when  they  so  desire?  That's  democratic  government." 

"But  good  Lord,  Barry!"  burst  out  his  father,  with 
quite  an  unusual  display  of  feeling;  "to  think  that  a  gen- 
tleman should  hold  his  position  at  the  whim  of  such 
whippersnappers  as  Hayes,  Boggs  et  hoc  genus  omne. 
And  more  than  that,  that  I  should  have  to  accept  as  my 
minister  a  man  who  would  be  the  choice  of  cattle  like 
that." 

"After  all,  dad,  we  are  ruled  by  majorities  in  this  age 
and  in  this  country.  That  is  at  once  the  glory  and  the 
danger  of  democratic  government.  There  is  no  better 
way  discovered  as  yet.  And  besides,  I  couldn't  go  on 
here,  dad,  preaching  Sunday  after  Sunday  to  people  who 
I  felt  were  all  the  time  saying,  'He's  no  good' ;  to  peo- 

69 


70       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

pie,  in  short,  who  could  not  profit  by  my  preaching." 

"Because  it  had  no  pep,  eh  ?"  said  his  father  with  bit- 
ter scorn. 

"Do  you  know,  dad,  I  believe  that's  what  is  wrong 
with  my  preaching :  it  hasn't  got  pep.  What  pep  is,  only 
the  initiated  know.  But  the  long  and  the  short  of  this 
thing  is,  it  is  the  people  that  must  be  satisfied.  It  is  they 
who  have  to  stand  your  preaching,  they  who  pay  the 
piper.  But  cheer  up,  dad,  I  have  no  fear  for  the  future." 

"Nor  have  I,  my  boy,  not  the  slightest.  I  hope  you 
did  not  think  for  a  moment,  my  son,"  he  added  with 
some  dignity,  "that  I  was  in  doubt  about  your  future." 

"No,  no,  dad.  We  both  feel  a  little  sore  naturally,  but 
the  future  is  all  right." 

"True,  my  dear  boy,  true.  I  was  forgetting  myself. 
As  you  say,  the  world  is  wide  and  your  place  is  wait- 
ing." 

"Hello !  here  comes  my  friend,  Mr.  Duff,"  said  Barry 
in  a  low  voice.  "He  was  ready  to  throw  Mr.  McFettridge 
out  of  the  meeting  yesterday,  body  and  bones.  Awfully 
funny,  if  it  hadn't  been  in  church.  Wonder  what  he 
wants!  Seems  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry." 

But  hurry  or  not,  it  was  a  full  hour  before  Mr.  Duff 
introduced  his  business.  As  he  entered  the  garden  he 
stood  gazing  about  him  in  amazed  wonder  and  delight, 
and  that  hour  was  spent  in  company  with  Mr.  Dunbar, 
exploring  the  garden,  Barry  following  behind  lost  in 
amazement  at  the  new  phase  of  character  displayed  by 
their  visitor. 

"I  have  not  had  such  a  delightful  evening,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar,  for  years,"  said  Duff,  when  they  had  finished  making 
the  round  of  the  garden.  "I  have  heard  about  your  gar- 
den, but  I  had  no  idea  that  it  held  such  a  wealth  and  va- 
riety of  treasures.  I  had  something  of  a  garden  myself 
in  the  old  country,  but  here  there  is  no  time  apparently 
for  anything  but  cattle  and  horses  and  money.  But  if 
you  would  allow  me  I  should  greatly  like  to  have  the 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  71 

pleasure  of  bringing  Mrs.  Duff  to  see  your  beautiful 
garden." 

Mr.  Duff  was  assured  that  the  Dunbars  would  have 
the  greatest  pleasure  in  receiving  Mrs.  Duff. 

"Do  bring  her,"  said  Barry,  "and  we  can  have  a  little 
music,  too.  She  is  musical,  I  know.  I  hear  her  sing  in 
church." 

"Music!  Why,  she  loves  it.  But  she  dropped  her 
music  when  she  came  here ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  time, 

no  time,  no  time.  I  wonder  sometimes Well,  I 

must  get  at  my  business.  It  is  this  letter  that  brings  me. 
It  is  from  an  American  whom  you  know,  at  least,  he 
knows  you,  a  Mr.  Osborne  Rowland  of  Pittsburgh." 

Mr.  Dunbar  nodded. 

"He  is  planning  a  big  trip  up  the  Peace  River  country 
prospecting  for  oil  and  mines,  and  later  hunting.  He 
says  you  and  your  son  engaged  to  accompany  him,  and 
he  asks  me  to  complete  arrangements  with  you.  I  am 
getting  Jim  Knight  to  look  after  the  outfit.  You  know 
Jim,  perhaps.  He  runs  the  Lone  Pine  ranch.  Fine  chap 
he  is.  Knows  all  about  the  hunting  business.  Takes  a 
party  into  the  mountains  every  year.  He'll  take  Tom 
Fielding  with  him.  I  don't  know  Fielding,  but  Knight 
does.  Mr.  Howland  says  there  will  be  three  of  their 
party.  Far  too  many,  but  that's  his  business.  I  myself 
am  rather  anxious  to  look  after  .some  oil  deposits,  and 
this  will  be  a  good  chance.  What  do  you  say?" 

Father  and  son  looked  at  each  other. 

"It  would  be  fine,  if  we  could  manage  it,"  said  Mr. 
Dunbar,  "but  my  work  is  so  pressing  just  now.  A  great 
many  are  coming  in,  and  I  am  alone  in  the  office  at  pres- 
ent. When  does  he  propose  to  start?" 

"In  six  weeks'  time.  I  hope  you  can  come,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar.  I  couldn't  have  said  so  yesterday,  but  I  can  now. 
Any  man  with  a  garden  like  this,  the  product  of  his  own 
planning  and  working,  is  worth  knowing.  So  I  do  hope 
you  can  both  come.  By  the  way,  Knight  wants  a  camp 


72       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

hand,  a  kind  of  roustabout,  who  can  cook — a  handy  man, 
you  know." 

"I  have  him,"  said  Barry.     "Harry  Hobbs." 

"Hobbs?    Boozes  a  bit,  doesn't  he?" 

"Not  now.  Hasn't  for  six  months.  He's  a  new  man. 
I  can  guarantee  him." 

"You  can,  eh?  Well,  my  experience  is  once  a  boozer 
always  a  boozer." 

"Oh,"  said  Barry,  "Hobbs  is  different.  He  is  a  mem- 
ber of  our  church,  you  know." 

"No,  I  didn't  know.  But  I  don't  know  that  that  makes 
much  difference  anyway,"  said  Duff  with  a  laugh.  "I 
don't  mean  to  be  offensive,"  he  added. 

"It  does  to  Hobbs,  he's  a  Christian  man  now.  I  mean 
a  real  Christian,  Mr.  Duff." 

"Well,  I  suppose  there  is  such  a  ti«~g.  In  fact,  I've 
known  one  or  two,  but — well,  if  you  guarantee  him  I'll 
take  him." 

"I  will  guarantee  him,"  said  Barry. 

"Let  me  have  your  answer  to-morrow,"  said  Duff  as 
he  bade  them  good-night. 

The  Dunbars  discussed  the  matter  far  into  the  night. 
It  was  clearly  impossible  for  Mr.  Dunbar  to  leave  his 
work,  and  the  only  question  was  whether  or  not  Barry 
should  make  one  of  the  party.  Barry  greatly  disliked  the 
idea  of  leaving  his  father  during  the  hot  summer  months, 
as  he  said,  "to  slave  away  at  his  desk,  and  to  slop  away 
in  his  bachelor  diggings."  He  raised  many  objec- 
tions, but  one  consideration  seemed  to  settle  things  for 
the  Dunbars.  To  them  a  promise  was  a  promise. 

"If  I  remember  aright,  Barry,  we  promised  that  we 
should  join  their  party  on  this  expedition." 

"Yes,"  added  Barry  quickly,  "if  our  work  permitted 
it." 

"Exactly,"  said  his  father.  "My  work  prevents  me, 
your  work  does  not." 

Hence  it  came  that  by  the  end  of  August  Barry  found 
himself  in  the  far  northern  wilds  of  the  Peace  River 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  73 

country,  a  hundred  miles  or  so  from  Edmonton,  attached 
to  a  prospecting-hunting  party  of  which  Mr.  Osborne 
Rowland  was  the  nominal  head,  but  of  which  the  "boss" 
was  undoubtedly  his  handsome,  athletic  and  impetuous 
daughter  Paula.  The  party  had  not  been  on  the  trail 
for  more  than  a  week  before  every  member  was  moving 
at  her  command,  and  apparently  glad  to  do  so. 

The  party  were  camped  by  a  rushing  river  at  the 
foot  of  a  falls.  Below  the  falls  the  river  made  a  wide 
eddy,  then  swept  down  in  a  turbulent  rapid  for  some 
miles.  The  landing  was  a  smooth  and  shelving  rock 
that  pitched  somewhat  steeply  into  the  river. 

The  unfortunate  Harry,  who  after  the  day's  march  had 
exchanged  his  heavy  marching  boots  with  their  clinging 
hobnails  for  shoes  more  comfortable  but  with  less  cling- 
ing qualities,  in  making  preparation  for  the  evening 
meal  made  his  way  down  this  shelving  rock  of  water. 
No  sooner  had  he  filled  his  pail  than  his  foot  slipped 
from  under  him,  and  in  an  instant  the  pail  and  himself 
were  in  the  swiftly  flowing  river. 

His  cry  startled  the  camp. 

"Hello!"  shouted  Duff,  with  a  great  laugh.  "Harry  is 
in  the  drink !  I  never  knew  he  was  so  fond  of  water  as 
all  that.  You've  got  to  swim  for  it  now,  old  boy." 

"Throw  him  something,"  said  Knight. 

Past  them  ran  Barry,  throwing  off  coat  and  vest. 

"He  can't  swim,"  he  cried,  tearing  at  his  boots. 
"Throw  him  a  line,  some  one."  He  ran  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  plunged  in,  and  swam  toward  the  unfor- 
tunate Harry,  who,  splashing  wildly,  was  being  carried 
rapidly  into  the  rough  water. 

"Oh,  father,  he  will  be  drowned!"  cried  Paula,  rush- 
ing toward  a  canoe  which  was  drawn  up  on  the  shore. 
Before  any  one  could  reach  her  she  had  pushed  it  out 
and  was  steering  over  the  boiling  current  in  Barry's 
wake.  But  after  a  few  strokes  of  her  paddle  she  found 
herself  driven  far  out  into  the  current  and  away  from 
the  struggling  men.  Paula  had  had  sufficient  experience 


74       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

with  a  canoe  to  handle  it  with  considerable  ease  in  smooth 
water  and  under  ordinary  conditions,  but  in  the  swirl  of 
this  rough  and  swift  water  the  canoe  took  the  manage- 
ment of  its  course  out  of  her  hands,  and  she  had  all 
she  could  do  to  keep  afloat. 

"For  God's  sake,  men,  get  her!"  cried  Brand.  "She 
will  be  drowned  before  our  eyes." 

"Come  on,  Tom,"  cried  Jim  Knight,  swinging  another 
canoe  into  the  water.  A  glance  he  gave  at  the  girl,  an- 
other at  the  struggling  men,  for  by  this  time  Barry  could 
be  seen  struggling  with  the  drowning  Hobbs. 

"Get  in,  Tom,"  ordered  Knight,  taking  the  stern.  "We 
will  get  the  men  first.  The  girl  is  all  right  in  the  mean- 
time." 

"Get  the  girl!"  commanded  Brand.  "For  God's  sake 
go  for  the  girl,"  he  entreated  in  a  frenzy  of  distress. 

"No,"  said  Knight,  "the  men  first.     She's  all  right." 

"Here,"  said  Duff  to  Brand,  pushing  out  the  remain- 
ing canoe,  "get  into  the  bow,  and  stop  howling.  Those 
men  are  in  danger  of  being  drowned,  but  Knight  will 
get  them.  We'll  go  for  the  girl." 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  for  Knight  and  Fielding, 
who  knew  their  craft  thoroughly  and  how  to  get  the 
best  out  of  her  in  just  such  an  emergency,  to  draw  up 
upon  Harry  and  his  rescuer. 

"Say,  they  are  fighting  hard,"  said  Fielding.  "That 
bloody  little  fool  is  choking  the  life  out  of  Dunbar.  My 
God !  they  are  out  of  sight !" 

"Go  on,"  roared  Knight.  "Keep  your  eyes  on  the 
spot,  and  for  Heaven's  sake,  paddle!" 

"They  are  up  again!  One  of  them  is.  It's  Barry. 
The  other  is  gone.  No,  by  Jove !  he's  got  him !  Hold 
on,  Barry,  we're  coming,"  yelled  Tom.  "Stick  to  it,  old 
boy!" 

Swiftly  the  canoe  sped  toward  the  drowning  men. 

"They  are  gone  this  time  for  sure,"  cried  Tom,  as 
the  canoe  shot  over  the  spot  where  the  men  had  last 
been  seen. 


75 

"Not  much!"  said  Knight,  as  reaching  out  of  the 
stern  he  gripped  Barry  by  the  hair.  "Hold  hard,  Barry," 
he  said  quietly.  "No  monkey  work  now  or  you'll  drown 
us  all."  Immediately  Barry  ceased  struggling. 

"Don't  try  to  get  in,  Barry.  We'll  have  to  tow  you 
ashore." 

"All  right,  Jim,"  he  said  between  his  sobbing  breaths. 
"Only — hurry  up — I've  got  him — here." 

Knight  reached  down  carefully,  lifted  Barry  till  his 
hand  touched  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe. 

"Not  too  hard,  Barry,"  he  said.  "I'll  ease  you  round 
to  the  stern.  Steady,  boy,  steady.  Don't  dump  us." 

"All  right — Jim — but — he's  under  the  water — here." 

"Oh,  never  mind  him.  We'll  get  him  all  right.  Can 
you  hold  on  now  ?"  said  Knight. 

"Yes— I  think  so." 

"Now,  for  God's  sake,  Tom,  edge  her  into  the  shore. 
See  that  little  eddy  there?  Swing  into  that!  You'll  do 
it  all  right.  Goodman!" 

By  this  time  Knight  was  able  to  get  Harry's  head 
above  water. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  reached  the  shore,  and  were 
working  hard  over  Harry's  unconscious  body,  leaving 
Barry  lying  on  the  sand  to  recover  his  strength.  A 
long  fight  was  necessary  to  bring  the  life  back  into 
Harry,  by  which  time  Barry  was  sufficiently  recovered 
to  sit  up. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Barry,  until  we  get  this  man 
back  to  camp,"  ordered  Knight.  "We'll  light  a  bit  of 
a  fire  for  you." 

"I'm  warm  enough,"  said  Barry. 

"Warm  enough?  You  may  be,  but  you  will  be  bet- 
ter with  a  fire,  and  you  lie  beside  it  till  we  get  you. 
Don't  move  now." 

"There's  the  other  canoes  coming,"  said  Fielding. 
"They'll  make  shore  a  little  lower  down.  They're  all 
right.  Say,  she's  handling  that  canoe  like  a  man!" 

"Who?"  said  Barry. 


76       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Why,  Miss  Rowland,"  said  Fielding.  "She  was  out 
after  you  like  a  shot.  She's  a  plucky  one !" 

Barry  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  watching  anxiously 
the  progress  of  the  canoes,  which  were  being  slowly 
edged  across  the  river  in  a  long  incline  toward  the 
shore. 

"They'll  make  it,  all  right,"  said  Knight,  after  ob- 
serving them  for  a  time.  "Don't  you  worry.  Just  lie 
down  by  the  fire.  We'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy." 

In  an  hour  they  were  all  safely  back  in  camp,  and 
sufficiently  recovered  to  discover  the  humorous  points  in 
the  episode.  But  they  were  all  familiar  enough  with  the 
treacherous  possibilities  of  rough  and  rapid  water  to 
know  that  for  Hobbs  and  his  deliverer  at  least,  there  had 
been  some  serious  moments  during  their  fierce  struggle 
in  the  river. 

"Another  minute  would  have  done,"  said  Fielding 
to  his  friend,  as  they  sat  over  the  fire  after  supper. 

"A  half  a  minute  would  have  been  just  as  good,"  said 
Knight.  "I  got  Barry  by  the  hair  under  water.  He 
was  at  his  last  kick,  you  bet !  And  that  rat,"  he  added, 
smiling  good  naturedly  at  Harry,  "was  dragging  him 
down  for  the  last  time." 

"I  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it,"  said  poor  Harry, 
who  was  lying  stretched  out  by  the  fire,  still  very  weak 
and  miserable.  "I  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it,  or  you 
bet  I  woudn't  ha'  done  it.  I  didn't  know  nothin'  after 
he  got  me." 

"After  you  got  him,  you  mean,"  said  Fielding. 

"I  guess  that's  right,"  said  Harry,  "but  I  wouldn't 
ha'  got  him  if  he  hadn't  ha'  got  me  first." 

They  all  joined  in  the  discussion  of  the  event  except 
Paula,  who  sat  distrait  and  silent,  gazing  into  the  fire, 
and  Barry,  who  lay,  drowsy  and  relaxed,  on  a  blanket 
not  far  from  her  side. 

"You  ought  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Paula  at  length 
in  a  low  voice  to  him.  "You  need  a  good  night's  sleep." 

"I'm  too  tired  to  sleep,"  said  Barry.     "I  feel  rather 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  77 

rotten,  in  fact.  I  ought  to  feel  very  grateful,  but  some- 
how I  just  feel  rotten." 

"Can  one  be  grateful  and  feel  rotten  at  the  same 
time?"  said  Paula,  making  talk. 

"Behold  me,"  replied  Barry.  "I  know  I  am  grateful, 
but  I  do  feel  rotten.  I  don't  think  I  have  even  thanked 
you  for  risking  your  life  for  me,"  he  added,  turning 
toward  her. 

"Risking  my  life?  Nonsense!  I  paddled  'round  in 
the  canoe  for  a  bit,  till  two  strong  men  came  to  tow  me 
in,  and  would  have,  if  I  had  allowed  them.  Thank  the 
boys,  who  got  you  in  time."  She  shuddered  as  she 
spoke. 

"I  do  thank  them,  and  I  do  feel  grateful  to  them," 
said  Barry.  "It  was  rather  a  near  thing.  You  see,  I 
let  him  grip  me.  I  choked  him  off  my  arms,  but  he  slid 
down  to  my  thigh,  and  I  could  not  kick  him  off.  Had  to 
practically  drown  him.  Even  then  he  hung  on." 

"Oh,  don't  speak  about  it,"  she  said  with  a  shudder, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  "It  was  too  awful, 
and  it  might  have  been  the  end  of  you."  Her  voice 
broke  a  little. 

"No,  not  an  end,"  answered  Barry,  in  a  quiet  voice. 
"Not  the  end  by  a  long  way,  not  by  a  very  long  way." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  Oh,  you  are  thinking  of  immor- 
tality, and  all  that,"  said  Paula.  "It's  a  chilly,  ghostly 
subject.  It  makes  me  shiver.  I  get  little  comfort  out 
of  it." 

"Ghostly  it  is,  if  you  mean  a  thing  of  spirits,"  said 
Barry,  "but  chilly!  Why  chilly?"  Then  he  added  to 
himself  in  an  undertone :  "I  wonder!  I  wonder!  I  wish 
sometimes  I  knew  more." 

"Sometimes  ?"  cried  Paula.  "Always !"  she  added  pas- 
sionately. "It's  a  dreadful  business  to  me.  To  be  sud- 
denly snatched  out  of  the  light  and  the  warmth,  away 
from  the  touch  of  warm  fingers  and  the  sight  of  dear 
faces!  Ah,  I  dread  it!  I  loathe  the  thought  of  it.  I 
hate  it!" 


78       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"And  yet,"  mused  Barry,  "somehow  I  cannot  forget 
that  out  there  somewhere  there  is  One,  kindly,  genial, 
true, — like  my  dad.  How  good  he  has  been  to  me — my 
dad,  I  mean,  and  that  Other,  too,  has  been  good.  Some- 
how I  think  of  them  together.  Yes,  I  am  grateful  to 
Him." 

"Oh,  God,  you  mean,"  said  Paula,  a  little  impatiently. 

"Yes,  to  God.  He  saved  me  to-day.  'Saved,'  I  say. 
It  is  a  queer  way  to  speak,  after  all.  What  I  really  ought 
to  say  is  that  God  thought  it  best  that  I  should  camp 
'round  here  for  a  bit  longer  before  moving  in  nearer." 

"Nearer?" 

"Yes,  into  the  nearer  circle.   Life  moves  'round  a  cen- 
tre, in  outer  and  inner  circles.    This  is  the  outer  circle. 
Nearer  in  there,   it  is  kindlier,   with  better  light  and 
clearer  vision.    'We  shall  know  even  as  we  are  known.' ' 
Barry  mused  on,  as  if  communing  with  himself. 

"But  when  you  move  in,"  said  Paula,  and  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  earnestness  of  her  tone,  "you  break 
touch  with  those  you  love  here." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  Barry  quickly. 

"Oh,  yes  you  do.  You  are  out  of  all  this, — all  this," 
she  swept  her  hand  at  the  world  around  her,  "this  good 
old  world,  all  your  joy  and  happiness,  all  you  love.  Oh, 
that's  the  worst  of  it;  you  give  up  your  love.  I  hate 
it!"  she  concluded  with  vehemence  sudden  and  fierce,  as 
she  shook  her  fist  towards  the  stars. 

"Give  up  your  love  ?"  said  Barry.  "Not  I !  Not  one 
good,  honest  affection  do  I  mean  to  give  up,  nor  shall  I." 

"Oh,  nonsense!  Don't  be  religious.  Just  be  honest," 
said  Paula,  in  a  low,  intense  voice.  "Let  me  speak  to 
you.  Suppose  I — I  love  a  man  with  all  my  soul  and 
body — and  body,  mind  you,  and  he  goes  out,  or  goes  in, 
as  you  say.  No  matter,  he  goes  out  of  my  life.  I  lose 
him,  he  is  not  here.  I  cannot  feel  and  respond  to  his 
love.  I  cannot  feel  his  strong  arms  about  me.  My 
God!"  Her  voice  came  with  increasing  vehemence.  "I 
want  his  arms.  I  want  him  as  he  is.  I  want  his  body 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  79 

— I  cannot  love  a  ghost.  No !  no !"  she  added  in  a  low, 
hopeless  voice.  "When  he  goes  out  I  lose  him,  and  lose 
him  as  mine  forever.  Oh,  what  do  I  care  for  your 
spirit  love!  The  old  Greeks  were  right.  They  are 
shades — shades,  mere  shades  beyond  the  river.  I  don't 
want  a  shade.  I  want  a  man,  a  strong,  warm-hearted, 
brave  man.  Yes,  a  good  man,  a  man  with  a  soul.  But  a 
man,  not  a  soul.  My  God !"  she  moaned,  "how  terrible 
it  all  is !  And  it  came  so  near  to  us  to-day.  But  I  should 
not  be  saying  this  to  you,  played  out  as  you  are.  I  am 
going  to  bed.  Good-night." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  gripped  his  in  warm,  strong, 
muscular  fingers.  "Thank  God,  yes  God,  if  you  like,  you 
are  still — still  in  this  outer  circle," — she  broke  into  a 
laugh,  but  there  was  little  mirth  in  her  laughter — "this 
good  old  outer  circle,  yet  awhile." 

"Yes,"  said  Barry  simply  but  very  earnestly,  "thank 
God.  It  is  a  good  world.  But  with  all  my  soul  I  be- 
lieve there  is  a  better,  and  all  that  is  best  in  love  and 
life  we  shall  take  with  us.  Good-night,"  he  added,  "and 
thank  you,  at  least  for  the  will  and  the  attempt  to  save 
my  life." 

"Sleep  well,"  she  said. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  replied,  "but  I  doubt  it." 

His  doubts,  it  turned  out,  were  justified,  for  soon  after 
midnight  Mr.  Howland  was  aroused  by  Harry  Hobbs  in 
a  terror  of  excitement. 

"Will  you  come  to  Mr.  Dunbar,  sir?"  he  cried.  "I 
think  he  is  dying." 

"Dying?"  Mr.  Howland  was  out  of  his  cot  immedi- 
ately and  at  Barry's  side.  He  found  him  fighting  for 
breath,  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head,  a  look  of  infi- 
nite distress  on  his  face. 

"My  dear  boy,  what  is  it  ?    Hobbs  says  you  are  dying." 

"That  con-con-founded — fool — shouldn't  have — called 
you.  I  forbade — him,"  gasped  Barry. 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  what  is  the  matter?  Are  you 
in  pain?" 


80       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"No,  no, — it's — nothing — only  an  old — friend  come 
back — for  a  call, — a  brief  one — let  us — hope.  It's  only 
asthma.  Looks  bad — feels  worse — but  really — not  at 
all  dangerous." 

"What  can  be  done,  my  boy?"  asked  Mr.  Rowland, 
greatly  relieved,  as  are  most  laymen,  when  the  trouble 
can  be  named.  It  is  upon  the  terror  inspired  by  the 
unknown  that  the  medical  profession  lives. 

"Tell  Harry — to  make — a  hot  drink,"  said  Barry,  but 
Harry  had  already  forestalled  the  request,  and  appeared 
with  a  steaming  bowl.  "This  will— help.  Now — go  to 
— bed,  Mr.  Howland.  Do,  please. — You  distress — me 
by  remaining — there.  Harry  will — look  after  me.  Good- 
night." 

Next  morning  Barry  appeared  at  breakfast  a  little 
washed  out  in  appearance,  but  quite  bright  and  an- 
nouncing himself  fit  for  anything. 

The  incident,  however,  was  a  determining  factor  in 
changing  the  party's  plans.  Already  they  were  behind 
their  time  schedule,  to  Mr.  Cornwall  Brand's  disgust. 
The  party  was  too  large  and  too  heavily  encumbered 
with  impedimenta  for  swift  travel.  Besides,  as  Paula 
said,  "Why  rush?  Are  we  not  doing  the  Peace  River 
Country?  We  are  out  for  a  good  time  and  we  are  hav- 
ing it."  Paula  was  not  interested  in  mines  and  oil.  She 
did  not  announce  just  what  special  interest  was  hers. 
She  was  "having  a  good  time"  and  that  was  reason 
enough  for  leisurely  travel.  In  consequence  their  pro- 
visions had  run  low. 

It  was  decided  to  send  forward  a  scouting  party  to 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Post  some  thirty  miles  further  on  to 
restock  their  commissariat.  Accordingly  Knight  and 
Fielding  were  despatched  on  this  mission,  the  rest  of  the 
party  remaining  in  camp. 

"A  lazy  day  or  two  in  camp  is  what  we  all  need," 
said  Mr.  Howland.  "I  confess  I  am  quite  used  up  my- 
self, and  therefore  I  know  you  must  all  feel  much  the 
same." 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  81 

On  the  fourth  day  the  scouting  party  appeared. 

"There's  war!"  cried  Knight  as  he  touched  land.  He 
flung  out  a  bundle  of  papers  for  Mr.  Howland. 

"War!"  The  word  came  back  in  tones  as  varied  as 
those  who  uttered  it. 

"War!"  said  Mr.  Howland.     "Between  whom?" 

"Every  one,  pretty  much,"  said  Knight.  "Germany, 
France,  Russia,  Austria,  Servia,  Belgium,  and  Britain." 

"Britain!"  said  Barry  and  Duff  at  the  same  moment. 

"Britain,"  answered  Knight  solemnly. 

The  men  stood  stock  still,  looking  at  each  other  with 
awed  faces. 

"War!"  again  said  Barry.  "With  Germany!"  He 
turned  abruptly  away  from  the  group  and  said,  "I  am 
going." 

"Going !    Going  where  ?"  said  Mr.  Howland. 

"To  the  war,"  said  Barry  quietly. 

"To  the  war !  You  ?  A  clergyman  ?"  said  Mr.  How- 
land. 

^You?  You  going?"  cried  Paula.  At  the  pain  in 
her  voice  her  father  and  Brand  turned  and  looked  at 
Her.  Disturbed  by  what  he  saw,  her  father  began  an 
excited  appeal  to  Barry. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,  it  would  surely  be  most  unusual 
for  a  man  like  you  to  go  to  war,"  he  began,  and 
for  quite  ten  minutes  he  proceeded  to  set  forth  in  fluent 
and  excited  speech  a  number  of  reasons  why  the  idea  of 
Barry's  going  to  war  was  absurd  and  preposterous  to 
him.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Barry  was  the  only 
one  of  the  men  who  appeared  to  give  much  heed  to 
him.  They  seemed  to  be  dazed  by  the  stupendous  fact 
that  had  been  announced  to  them,  and  to  be  adjusting 
themselves  to  that  fact. 

When  he  had  finished  his  lengthy  and  excited  speech 
Brand  took  up  the  discourse. 

"Of  course  you  don't  think  of  going  immediately," 
he  said.  "We  have  this  expedition  in  hand." 


82       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

The  men  made  no  reply.  Indeed,  they  hardly  seemed 
to  hear  him. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  continued  Brand  with  a 
touch  of  indignation  in  his  voice,  addressing  Duff,  the 
recognised  leader  of  the  party,  "that  you  would  break 
your  engagement  with  this  party,  Mr.  Duff?" 

Duff  glanced  at  him,  then  looked  away  in  silence, 
studying  the  horizon.  The  world  was  to  him  and  to 
them  all  a  new  world  within  the  last  few  minutes. 

His  silence  appeared  to  enrage  Brand.  He  turned 
to  Barry. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  sir,  that  you  approve  of 
this?  Do  you  consider  it  right  and  fair  that  these  men 
should  break  their  engagement  with  us?  We  have  gone 
to  great  expense,  we  have  extremely  important  inter- 
ests at  stake  in  this  exploration." 

Barry  stood  looking  at  him  in  silence,  as  if  trying 
to  take  in  exactly  what  he  meant,  then  in  a  low  and 
awed  tone  he  said: 

"It  is  war!     War  with  Germany!" 

"We  cannot  help  that,"  cried  Brand.  "What  differ- 
ence can  this  war  make  to  you  here  a  hundred  miles 
from  civilisation?  These  men  are  pledged  to  us." 

"Their  first  pledge  is  to  their  country,  sir,"  said  Barry 
gravely. 

"But  why  should  you,  a  Canadian,  take  part  in  this 
war?"  argued  Mr.  Howland.  "Surely  this  is  England's 
war." 

Then  Barry  appeared  to  awake  as  from  a  dream. 

"Yes,  it  is  England's  war,  it  is  Britain's  war,  and 
when  Britain  is  at  war  my  country  is  at  war,  and  when 
my  country  is  at  war  I  ought  to  be  there." 

"God  in  heaven!"  shouted  Duff,  striking  him  on  the 
back,  "you  have  said  it!  My  country  is  at  war,  and  I 
must  be  there.  As  God  hears  me,  I  am  off  to-day — now." 

"Me,  too!"  said  Knight  with  a  shout. 

"I'm  going  with  you,  sir,"  said  little  Harry  Hobbs, 
ranging  himself  beside  Barry. 


THE  WAR  DRUM  CALLS  83 

"Count  me  in,"  said  Tom  Fielding  quietly.  "I  have 
a  wife  and  three  kids,  but " 

"My  God!"  gasped  Duff.  "My  wife."  His  face  went 
white.  He  had  not  yet  fully  adjusted  himself  to  the 
fact  of  war. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Howland,  "you  married 
men  won't  be  called  upon.  You  must  be  reasonable.  For 
instance  you,  Mr.  Duff,  cannot  leave  your  wife." 

But  Duff  had  recovered  himself. 

"My  wife,  sir?  My  wife  would  despise  me  if  I  stayed 
up  here.  Sir,  my  wife  will  buckle  on  my  belt  and  spurs 
and  send  me  off  to  the  war,"  cried  Duff  in  a  voice  that 
shook  as  he  spoke. 

With  a  single  stride  Barry  was  at  his  side,  offer- 
ing both  his  hands. 

"Thank  God  for  men  like  you!  And  in  my  soul  I 
believe  the  Empire  has  millions  of  them." 

"Does  your  Empire  demand  that  you  desert  those 
you  have  pledged  yourself  to?"  enquired  Brand  in  a 
sneering  tone. 

"Oh,  Cornwall!"  exclaimed  Paula,  "how  can  you?" 

"Why,  Brand,"  saiu  Mr.  Howland,  "that  is  unworthy 
of  you." 

"We  will  see  you  into  safety,  sir,"  said  Duff,  swing- 
ing round  upon  Brand,  "either  to  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company's  post,  where  you  can  get  Indians,  or  back  to 
Edmonton,  but  not  one  step  further  on  this  expedition 
do  I  go." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Knight. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Fielding. 

"Nor  I,"  said   Barry. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Harry  Hobbs. 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Howland,  turn- 
ing to  Barry.  "I  apologise  to  you,  sir,  to  all  of  you 
Canadians.  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  that  I  did  not  at 
first  get  the  full  meaning  of  this  terrific  thing  that  has 
befallen  your  Empire.  Were  it  the  U.S.A.  that  was 
in  a  war  of  this  kind,  hell  itself  would  not  keep  me  from 


84       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

going  to  her  aid.  Nor  you  either,  Brand.  Yes,  you  are 
right.  Go  to  your  war.  God  go  with  you." 

He  shook  hands  solemnly  with  them  one  by  one.  "I 
only  wish  to  God  that  my  country  were  with  you,  too, 
in  this  thing,"  he  said  when  he  had  performed  this 
function. 

"Father,"  cried  Paula,  "do  you  think  for  one  min- 
ute that  Uncle  Sam  won't  be  in  this  ?  You  put  it  down," 
she  said,  swinging  'round  upon  Barry,  "where  it  will 
jump  at  you  some  day:  We  will  be  with  you  in  this 
scrap  for  all  we  are  worth." 

"And  now  for  the  march,"  said  Barry,  who  seemed 
almost  to  assume  command.  Then  removing  his  hat  and 
lifting  high  his  hand,  he  said  in  a  voice  thrilling  with 
solemn  reverence,  "God  grant  victory  to  the  right!  God 
save  the  king!" 

Instinctively  the  men  took  off  their  hats  and  stood 
with  bared  and  bent  heads,  as  if  sharing  in  a  solemn 
ritual.  They  stood  with  millions  upon  millions  of  their 
kin  in  the  old  mother  lands,  and  scattered  wide  upon 
the  seas,  stood  with  many  millions  more  of  peoples  and 
nations,  pledging  to  this  same  cause  of  right,  life  and 
love  and  all  they  held  dear,  and  with  hearts  open  to  that 
all-searching  eye,  praying  that  same  prayer,  "God  grant 
victory  to  the  right.  Amen  and  amen.  We  ask  no 
other." 

Then  they  faced  to  their  hundred  miles'  trek  en  route 
to  the  war. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    MEN   OF   THE    NORTH 

FIFTY  miles — not  too  bad,  boy,  not  too  bad  for  a 
one  day's  go.  We'll  camp  right  here  at  the  portage. 
How  is  it,  Knight?" 

"Good  place,  Duff,  right  on  that  point  Good  wood, 
good  landing.  Besides  there's  a  deuce  of  a  portage  be- 
yond, which  we  can  do  after  supper  to-night.  How  do 
you  feel,  Barry?"  asked  Knight.  "Hard  day,  eh?" 

"Feeling  fit,  a  little  tired,  of  course,  but  good  for  an- 
other ten  miles,"  answered  Barry. 

"That's  the  stuff,"  replied  Knight,  looking  at  him 
keenly,  "but,  see  here,  you  must  ease  up  on  the  carrying. 
You  haven't  quite  got  over  that  ducking  of  yours." 

"I'm  fit  enough,"  answered  Barry,  rather  more  curtly 
than  his  wont. 

They  brought  the  canoes  up  to  the  landing,  and  with 
the  speed  of  long  practice  unloaded  them,  and  drew 
them  upon  the  shore. 

Knight  approached  Duff,  and,  pointing  toward  Barry, 
said  quietly : 

"I  guess  we'll  have  to  ease  him  up  a  bit.  That  fight, 
you  know,  took  it  out  of  him,  and  he  always  jumps  for 
the  biggest  pack.  We'd  better  hold  him  back  to-morrow 
a  bit." 

"Can't  hold  back  any  one,"  said  Duff,  with  an  oath. 
"We've  got  to  make  it  to-morrow  night.  There's  the 
devil  of  a  trip  before  us.  That  big  marsh  portage  is  a 
heartbreaker,  and  there  must  be  a  dozen  or  fifteen  of 
them  awaiting  us,  and  we're  going  to  get  through — at 
least,  I  am." 

"All  right,"  said  Knight,  with  a  quick  flash  of  temper. 

85 


86       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I'll  stay  with  you,  only  I  thought  we  might  ease  him  a 
bit." 

"I'm  telling  you,  we're  going  to  get  through,"  said 
Duff,  with  another  oath. 

"You  needn't  tell  me,  Duff,"  said  Knight.  "Keep  your 
shirt  on." 

"On  or  off,  wet  or  dry,  sink  or  swim,  we're  going  to 
make  that  train  to-morrow,  Knight.  That's  all  about  it." 

Then  Knight  let  himself  go. 

"See  here,  Duff.  Do  you  want  to  go  on  to-night?  If 
you  do,  hell  and  blazes,  say  the  word  and  I'm  with 
you." 

His  face  was  white  as  he  spoke.  He  seized  a  tump- 
line,  swung  the  pack  upon  his  head,  and  set  off  across  the 
portage. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  he  yelled.  "We're  going  through 
to-night." 

"Oh,  hold  up,  Knight!"  said  Duff.  "What  the  hell's 
eating  you?  We'll  grub  first  anyway." 

"No/'  said  Knight.  "The  next  rapid  is  a  bad  bit  of 
water,  and  if  we're  going  through  to-night,  I  want  that 
bit  behind  me,  before  it  gets  too  dark.  So  come  along!" 

"Oh,  cut  it  out,  Knight,"  said  Duff,  in  a  gruff  but  con- 
ciliatory tone.  "We'll  camp  right  here." 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me,"  said  Knight,  flinring  his 
pack  down.  "When  you  want  to  go  on,  say  the  word. 
You  won't  have  to  ask  me  twice." 

Duff  looked  over  the  six  feet  of  bone  and  sinew  and 
muscle  of  the  young  rancher,  made  as  if  to  answer, 
paused  a  moment,  changed  his  mind,  and  said  more 
quietly : 

"Don't  be  an  ass,  Knight.  I'm  not  trying  to  hang 
your  shirt  on  a  tree." 

"You  know  damned  well  you  can't,"  said  Knight,  who 
was  still  white  with  passion. 

"Oh,  come  off,"  replied  Duff.  "Anyway,  I  don't  see 
what  young  Dunbar  is  to  you.  We  must  get  through 
to-morrow  night.  The  overseas  contingent  is  camping 


87 

at  Valcartier,  according  to  these  papers  and  whatever 
happens  I  am  going  with  that  contingent." 

Knight  made  no  reply.  He  was  a  little  ashamed  of 
his  temper.  But  during  the  past  two  days  he  had  chafed 
under  the  rasp  of  Duff's  tongue  and  his  overbearing 
manner.  He  resented  too  his  total  disregard  of  Barry's 
weariness,  for  in  spite  of  his  sheer  grit,  the  pace  was 
wearing  the  boy  down. 

"We  ought  to  reach  the  railroad  by  six  to-morrow," 
Said  Duff,  renewing  the  conversation,  and  anxious  to  ap- 
pease his  comrade.  "There's  a  late  train,  but  if  we  catch 
the  six  we  shall  make  home  in  good  time.  Hello,  what's 
this  coming?" 

At  his  words  they  all  turned  and  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  he  pointed. 

Down  a  stream,  which  at  this  point  came  tumbling  into 
theirs  in  a  dangerous  looking  rapid,  came  a  canoe  with  a 
man  in  the  centre  guiding  it  as  only  an  expert  could. 

"By  Jove!  He  can't  make  that  drop,"  said  Knight, 
walking  down  toward  the  landing. 

They  all  stood  watching  the  canoe  which,  at  the  mo- 
ment, hung  poised  upon  the  brink  of  the  rapid  like  a 
bird  for  flight.  Even  as  Knight  spoke  the  canoe  entered 
the  first  smooth  pitch  at  the  top.  Two  long,  swallow- 
like  sweeps,  then  she  plunged  into  the  foam,  to  appear 
a  moment  later  fighting  her  way  through  the  mass  of 
crowding,  crested  waves,  which,  like  white-fanged  wolves 
upon  a  doe,  seemed  to  be  hurling  themselves  upon  her, 
intent  upon  bearing  her  down  to  destruction. 

"By  the  living,  jumping  Jemima!"  said  Fielding,  in 
an  awe-stricken  tone,  "she's  gone !" 

"She's  through !"  cried  Knight. 

"Great  Jehoshaphat !"  said  Fielding.    "He's  a  bird !" 

With  a  flip  or  two  of  his  paddle,  the  stranger  shot  his 
canoe  across  the  stream,  and  floated  quietly  to  the  land- 
ing. 

Barry  ran  down  to  meet  him. 

"I  say,  that  was  beautifully  done,"  he  cried,  taking  the 


88       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

nose  of  the  canoe  while  the  man  stepped  ashore  and  stood 
a  moment  looking  back  at  the  water. 

"A  lee  tie  more  to  the  left  would  have  been  better,  I 
think.  She  took  some  water,"  he  remarked  in  a  slow 
voice,  as  if  to  himself. 

He  was  a  strange-looking  creature.  He  might  have 
stepped  out  of  one  of  Fenimore  Cooper's  novels.  In- 
deed, as  Barry's  eyes  travelled  up  and  down  his  long, 
bony,  stooping,  slouching  figure,  his  mind  leaped  at  once 
to  the  Pathfinder. 

"Come  far?"  asked  Duff,  approaching  the  stranger. 

"Quite  a  bit,"  he  answered,  in  a  quiet,  courteous  voice, 
pausing  a  moment  in  his  work. 

"Going  out?"  enquired  Duff. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  "Going  up  the  country  first  to 
the  Post." 

"Ah,  we  have  just  come  down  from  there,"  said  Duff. 
"We  started  yesterday  morning,"  he  added,  evidently 
hoping  to  surprise  the  man. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  in  a  quiet  tone  of  approval.  "Nice 
little  run !  Nice  little  run !  Bit  of  a  hurry,  I  guess,"  he 
ventured  apologetically. 

"You  bet  your  life,  we  just  are.  This  damned  war 
makes  a  man  feel  like  as  if  the  devil  was  after  him," 
said  Duff., 

"War!"  The  man  looked  blankly  at  him.  "Who's 
fightin'?" 

"Why,  haven't  you  heard?  It's  been  going  on  for  a 
month.  We  heard  only  three  days  ago  as  we  were  going 
further  up  the  country.  It  knocked  our  plans  endways, 
and  here  we  are  chasing  ourselves  to  get  out." 

"War !"  said  the  man  again.  "Who's  fightin'  ?  Uncle 
Sam  after  them  Mexicans  ?" 

"No.  Mexicans,  hell!"  exclaimed  Duff.  "Germany 
and  Britain." 

"Britain!"  The  slouching  shoulders  lost  their  droop. 
"Britain!"  he  said,  straightening  himself  up.  "What's 
she  been  doin'  to  Germany?" 


THE  MEN  OF  THE  NORTH  89 

"What's  Germany  been  doing  to  her,  and  to  Belgium, 
and  to  Servia,  and  to  France?"  answered  Duff,  in  a 
wrathful  voice.  "She's  been  raising  hell  all  around. 
You  haven't  seen  the  papers,  eh  ?  I  have  them  all  here." 

The  stranger  seemed  dazed  by  the  news.  He  made  no 
reply,  but  getting  out  his  frying  pan  and  tea  pail,  his  only 
utensils,  he  set  about  preparing  his  evening  meal. 

"I  say,"  said  Duff,  "won't  you  eat  with  us?  We're 
just  about  ready.  We'll  be  glad  to  have  you." 

The  man  hesitated  a  perceptible  moment.  In  the  wilds 
men  do  not  always  accept  invitations  to  eat.  Food  is 
sometimes  worth  more  than  its  weight  in  gold. 

"I  guess  I  will,  if  you've  lots  of  stuff,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"We've  lots  of  grub,  and  we  expect  to  be  home  by 
to-morrow  night  anyway,  if  things  go  all  right.  You  are 
very  welcome." 

The  man  laid  down  his  frying-pan  and  tea-pail,  and 
walked  with  Duff  toward  his  camp. 

"Are  you  goin'  ?"  he  enquired. 

"Going?" 

"To  the  war.  Guess  some  of  our  Canadian  boys  will 
be  goin'  likely,  eh?" 

"Going,"  cried  Duff.  "You  bet  your  life  I'm  going. 
But,  come  on.  We'll  talk  as  we  eat.  And  we  can't  stay 
long,  either." 

Duff  introduced  the  party. 

"My  name's  McCuaig,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Scotch,  I  guess?"  enquired  Duff. 

"My  father  came  out  with  The  Company.  I  was  born 
up  north.  -Never  been  much  out,  but  I  read  the  papers," 
he  added  quickly,  as  if  to  correct  any  misapprehension 
as  to  his  knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  affairs.  "My 
father  always  got  the  Times  and  the  Spectator,  and  I've 
continued  the  habit." 

"Any  one  who  reads  the  Times  and  the  Spectator/' 
said  Barry,  "can  claim  to  be  a  fairly  well-read  man.  My 
father  takes  the  Spectator,  too." 


90       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

As  they  sat  down  to  supper,  he  noticed  that  McCuaig 
took  off  his  old  grey  felt  and  crossed  himself  before 
beginning  toast. 

As  a  matter  of  courtesy,  Barry  had  always  been  asked 
to  say  grace  before  meals  while  with  the  Rowland 
party.  This  custom,  however,  had  been  discontinued 
upon  this  trip.  They  had  no  time  for  meals.  They  had 
"just  grabbed  their  grub  and  run,"  as  Harry  Hobbs  said. 

While  they  ate,  Duff  kept  a  full  tide  of  conversation 
going  in  regard  to  the  causes  of  the  war  and  its  prog- 
ress, as  reported  in  the  papers.  Barry  noticed  that  Mc- 
Cuaig's  comments,  though  few,  revealed  a  unique  knowl- 
edge of  European  political  affairs  during  the  last  quarter 
of  a  century.  He  noticed  too  that  his  manners  at  the 
table  were  those  of  a  gentleman. 

After  supper  they  packed  their  stuff  over  the  long 
portage,  leaving  their  tent  and  sleeping  gear,  with  their 
food,  however,  to  be  taken  in  the  morning.  For  a  long 
time  they  sat  over  the  fire,  Barry  reading,  for  McCuaig' s 
benefit,  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the  Belgian  atrocities, 
the  story  of  the  smashing  drive  of  the  German  hosts,  and 
the  retreat  of  the  British  army  from  Mons. 

"What,"  exclaimed  McCuaig,  "the  British  soldiers 
goin'  back!  Runnin'  away  from  them  Germans!" 

"Well,  the  Germans  are  only  about  ten  to  one,  not 
only  in  men  but  in  guns,  and  in  this  war  it's  guns  that 
count.  Guns  can  wipe  out  an  army  of  heroes  as  easily 
as  an  army  of  cowards,"  said  Duff. 

"And  them  women  and  children,"  said  McCuaig. 
"Are  they  killing  them  still?" 

"You're  just  right,  they  are,"  replied  Duff,  "and  will 
till  we  stop  them." 

McCuaig's  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  deep  inner  light. 
They  were  wonderful  eyes,  quick,  darting,  straight-look- 
ing and  fearless,  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  owes  his  life 
to  his  vigilance  and  his  courage. 

Before  turning  in  for  the  night,  Barry  went  to  the 
river's  edge,  and  stood  looking  up  at  the  stars  holding 


THE  MEN  OF  THE  NORTH  91 

their  steadfast  watch  over  the  turbulent  and  tossing  wa- 
ters below. 

"Quiet,  ain't  they?"  said  a  voice  at  his  shoulder. 

"Why,  you  startled  me,  Mr.  McCuaig;  I  never  heard 
you  step." 

McCuaig  laughed  his  quiet  laugh. 

"Got  to  move  quietly  in  this  country,"  he  said,  "if 
you  are  going  to  keep  alive." 

A  moment  or  so  he  stood  by  Barry's  side,  looking  up 
with  him  at  the  stars. 

"No  fuss,  up  there,"  he  said,  interpreting  Barry's  mood 
and  attitude.  "Not  like  that  there  pitchin',  tossin',  threat- 
enin'  water." 

"No,"  said  Barry,  "but  though  they  look  quiet,  I  sup- 
pose if  we  could  really  see,  there  is  a  most  terrific  whirl- 
ing of  millions  of  stars  up  there,  going  at  the  rate  of 
thousands  of  miles  a  minute." 

"Millions  of  'em,  and  all  whirlin'  about,"  said  Mc- 
Cuaig in  an  awe-stricken  voice.  "It's  a  wonder  they 
don't  hit." 

"They  don't  hit  because  they  each  keep  their  own  or- 
bit," said  Barry,  "and  they  obey  the  laws  of  their  ex- 
istence." 

"Orbut,"  enquired  McCuaig.    " What's  that?" 

"The  trail  that  each  star  follows,"  said  Barry. 

"I  see,"  said  McCuaig,  "each  one  keeps  its  own  trail, 
its  own  orbut,  and  so  there's  peace  up  there.  And  I  guess 
there'd  be  peace  down  here  if  folks  did  the  same  thing. 
It's  when  a  man  gets  out  of  his  own  orbut  and  into  an- 
other fellow's  that  the  scrap  begins.  I  guess  that's  where 
Germany's  got  wrong." 

"Something  like  that,"  replied  Barry. 

"And  sometimes,"  continued  McCuaig,  his  eyes  upon 
the  stars,  "when  a  little  one  comes  up  against  a  big  one, 
he  gets  busted,  eh?" 

Barry  nodded. 

"And  a  big  one,  when  he  comes  up  against  a  bigger 
one  gets  pretty  badly  jarred,  eh?" 


92       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Barry. 

"That's  what's  goin'  to  happen  to  Germany,"  said  Mc- 
Cuaig. 

"Germany's  a  very  powerful  nation,"  said  Barry.  "The 
most  powerful  military  nation  in  the  world." 

"What!"  said  McCuaig.     "Bigger  than  Britain?" 

"Britain  has  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  men  in 
her  army;  Germany  has  seven  millions  or  more,  with 
seventy  millions  of  people  behind  them,  organised  for 
war.  Of  course,  Britain  has  her  navy,  but  then  Ger- 
many has  the  next  biggest  in  tlie  world.  Oh,  it's  going 
to  be  a  terrific  war." 

"I  say,"  said  McCuaig,  putting  his  hand  on  Barry's 
shoulder.  "You  don't  think  it  will  bother  us  any  to  lick 
her?" 

"It  will  be  the  most  terrible  of  all  Britain's  wars,"  re- 
plied Barry.  "It  will  take  every  ounce  of  Britain's 
strength." 

"You  don't  tell  me !"  exclaimed  McCuaig,  as  if  struck 
by  an  entirely  new  idea.  "Say,  are  you  really  anxious, 
young  man?" 

"I  am  terribly  anxious,"  replied  Barry.  "I  know  Ger- 
many a  little.  I  spent  a  year  there.  She  is  a  mighty 
nation,  and  she  is  ready  for  war." 

"She  is,  eh !"  replied  McCuaig  thoughtfully.  He  wan- 
dered off  to  the  fire  without  further  word,  where,  rolling 
himself  in  his  blanket  and  scorning  the  place  in  the  tent 
offered  him  by  Duff,  he  made  himself  comfortable  for 
the  night. 

At  the  break  of  day  Duff  was  awakened  by  the  smell 
of  something  frying.  Over  the  fire  bent  McCuaig,  busy 
preparing  a  breakfast  of  tea,  bacon  and  bannocks,  to- 
gether with  thick  slices  of  fat  pork. 

Breakfast  was  eaten  in  haste.  The  day's  work  was 
before  them,  and  there  was  no  time  for  talk.  In  a  very 
few  minutes  they  stood  ready  for  their  trip  across  the 
portage. 

With  them  stood  McCuaig.    His  blanket  roll  contain- 


THE  MEN  OF  THE  NORTH  93 

ing  his  grub,  with  frying  pan  and  tea  pail  attached,  lay 
at  his  feet;  his  rifle  beside  it. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  stood  looking  back  up  the 
stream  by  which,  last  night,  he  had  come.  Then  he 
began  tying  his  paddles  to  the  canoe  thwarts  in  prepa- 
ration for  packing  it  across  the  portage. 

As  he  was  tying  on  the  second  paddle,  Duff's  eye  fell 
on  hi'm. 

"What's  up,  McCuaig?"  he  said.  "Aren't  you  going 
up  to  the  Post?" 

"No,  I  guess  I  ain't  goin'  up  no  more,"  replied  Mc- 
Cuaig slowly. 

"What  do  you  mean?    You  aren't  going  back  home?" 

"No.  My  old  shack  will  do  without  me  for  a  while, 
I  guess. — Say,"  he  continued,  facing  around  upon  Duff 
and  looking  him  squarely  in  the  face,  "this  young  chap 
says" — putting  his  hand  upon  Barry's  shoulder — "Britain 
is  going  to  have  a  hell  of  a  time  licking  Germany  back 
into  her  own  orbut.  Them  papers  said  last  night  that 
Canada  was  going  in  strong.  Do  you  think  she  could 
use  a  .fellow  like  me  ?" 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  group  of  men. 

"What!  Do  you  mean  it,  McCuaig?"  said  Duff  at 
length. 

The  man  turned  his  thin,  eagle  face  toward  the 
speaker,  a  light  in  his  eyes. 

"Why,  ain't  you  goin'?  Ain't  every  one  goin'  that 
can?  If  a  fellow  stood  on  one  side  while  his  coun- 
try was  fightin',  where  would  he  live  when  it's  all  over? 
He  read  out  of  the  papers  that  them  Germans  were 
shootin'  women  and  children.  So — "  his  face  began  to 
work,  "am  I  goin'  to  stand  by  and  ask  some  one  else 
to  make  'em  quit?  No,  by  God!" 

The  men  stood  watching  his  face,  curiously  twisted 
and  quivering.  Then  without  a  word  Duff  seized  his 
pack,  and  swung  into  the  trail,  every  man  following  him 
in  his  order.  Without  pausing,  except  for  a  brief  half 
hour  at  noon,  and  another  later  in  the  day  for  eating, 


94       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

they  pressed  the  trail,  running  what  rapids  they  could 
and  portaging  the  others,  until  in  the  early  evening 
they  saw,  far  away,  a  dirty  blur  on  the  skyline. 

"Hurrah!"  yelled  Fielding.  "Good  old  firebus,  wait- 
ing for  us." 

"Somebody  run  ahead  and  hold  her,"  said  Duff. 

Barry  flung  his  pack  down  and  started  away. 

"Come  back  here,  Barry,"  cried  Knight.  "You're  not 
fit.  You're  all  in." 

"That's  right,  too,"  said  McCuaig.     "I  guess  I'll  go." 

And  off  he  set  with  the  long,  shuffling,  tireless  trot 
with  which,  for  a  hundred  years,  the  "runners  of  the 
woods"  have  packed  their  loads  and  tracked  their  game 
in  the  wilds  of  northwestern  Canada. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BARRICADES    AND    BAYONETS 

city  of  Edmonton  was  in  an  uproar,  its  streets 
thronged  with  excited  men,  ranchers  and  cowboys 
from  the  ranches,  lumberjacks  from  the  foothill  camps, 
men  from  the  mines,  trappers  with  lean,  hard  faces,  in 
weird  garb,  from  the  north. 

The  news  from  the  front  was  ominous.  Belgium  was 
a  smoking  waste.  Her  skies  were  black  with  the  burn- 
ing of  her  towns,  villages  and  homesteads,  her  soil  red 
with  the  blood  of  her  old  men,  her  women  and  children. 
The  French  armies,  driven  back  in  rout  from  the  Bel- 
gian frontier,  were  being  pounded  to  death  by  the  Ger- 
man hordes.  Fortresses  hitherto  considered  impregna- 
ble were  tumbling  like  ninepins  before  the  terrible  smash- 
ing of  Austrian  and  German  sixteen-inch  guns.  Already 
von  Kluck  with  his  four  hundred  thousand  of  conquer- 
ing warriors  was  at  the  gates  of  Paris. 

Most  ominous  of  all,  the  British  army,  that  gallant, 
little  sacrificial  army,  of  a  scant  seventy-five  thousand 
men,  holding  like  a  bulldog  to  the  flank  of  von  Billow's 
mighty  army,  fifty  times  as  strong,  threatened  by  von 
Kluck  on  the. left  flank  and  by  von  Housen  on  the  right, 
was  slowing  down  the  German  advance,  but  was  itself 
being  slowly  ground  into  the  bloody  dust  of  the  north- 
ern and  eastern  roads  of  Northern  and  Eastern  France. 

Black  days  these  were  for  the  men  of  British  blood. 
Was  the  world  to  see  something  new  in  war  ?  Were  Ger- 
mans to  overcome  men  of  the  race  of  Nelson,  and  Wel- 
lington and  Colin  Campbell? 

At  home,  hundreds  of  thousands  were  battering  at  the 
recruiting  offices.  In  the  Dominions  of  the  Empire  over- 

95 


96       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

seas  it  was  the  same.  In  Canada  a  hundred  thousand 
men  were  demanding  a  place  in  the  first  Canadian  con- 
tingent of  thirty-five  thousand,  now  almost  ready  to 
sail.  General  Sam  at  Ottawa  was  being  snowed  under 
by  entreating,  insistent,  cajoling,  threatening  telegrams. 
Already  northern  Alberta  had  sent  two  thousand  men. 
The  rumour  in  Edmonton  ran  that  there  were  only  a 
few  places  left  to  be  filled  in  the  north  Alberta  quota. 
For  these  few  places  hundreds  of  men  were  fighting  in 
the  streets. 

Alighting  from  their  train,  Duff  and  his  men  stood 
amazed,  aghast,  gazing  upon  the  scene  before  them. 
Duff  climbed  a  wagon  wheel  and  surveyed  the  crowd 
packing  the  street  in  front  of  the  bulletin  boards. 

"No  use,  this  way,  boys.  We'll  have  to  go  around. 
Come  on." 

They  went  on.  Up  side  streets  and  lanes,  through 
back  yards  and  shops  they  went  until  at  length  they 
emerged  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  recruiting  office. 

Duff  called  his  men  about  him. 

"Boys,  we'll  have  to  bluff  them,"  he  said.  "You're 
a  party  of  recruits  that  Col.  Kavanagh  expects.  You've 
been  sent  for.  I'm  bringing  you  in  under  orders.  Look 
as  much  like  soldiers  as  you  can,  and  bore  in  like  hell. 
Come  on!" 

They  began  to  bore.  At  once  there  was  an  uproar, 
punctuated  with  vociferous  and  varied  profanity. 

Duff  proved  himself  an  effective  leader. 

"Here,  let  me  pass,"  he  shouted  into  the  backs  of  men's 
heads.  "I'm  on  duty  here.  I  must  get  through  to  Colonel 
Kavanagh.  Keep  up  there,  men ;  keep  your  line !  Stand 
back,  please!  Make  way!" 

His  huge  bulk,  distorted  face  and  his  loud  and  au- 
thoritative voice  startled  men  into  temporary  submis- 
sion, and  before  they  could  recover  themselves  he  and 
his  little  company  of  hard-boring  men  were  through. 

Twenty-five  yards  from  the  recruiting  office  a  side  rush 
of  the  crowd  caught  them. 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  97 

"They've  smashed  the  barricades,"  a  boy  from  a  tele- 
graph pole  called  out. 

Duff  and  his  men  fought  to  hold  their  places,  but  they 
became  conscious  of  a  steady  pressure  backwards. 

"What's  doing  now,  boy?"  shouted  Duff  to  the  urchin 
clinging  to  the  telegraph  pole. 

"The  fusileers — they  are  sticking  their  bayonets  into 
them." 

Before  the  line  of  bayonets  the  crowd  retreated  slowly, 
but  Duff  and  his  company  held  their  ground,  allowing 
the  crowd  to  ebb  past  them,  until  they  found  themselves 
against  the  line  of  bayonets. 

"Let  me  through  here,  sergeant,  with  my  party,"  said 
Duff.  "I'm  under  orders  of  Colonel  Kavanagh." 

The  sergeant,  an  old  British  army  man,  looked  them 
over. 

"Have  you  an  order,  sir — a  written  order,  I  mean?" 

"No,"  said  Duff.  "I  haven't,  but  the  colonel  expects 
us.  He  is  waiting  for  me  now." 

"Sorry,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "my  orders  are  to 
let  no  one  through  without  a  written  pass." 

Duff  argued,  stormed,  threatened,  swore;  but  to  no 
purpose.  The  N.C.O.  knew  his  job. 

"Send  a  note  in,"  suggested  Barry  in  Duff's  ear. 

"Good  idea,"  replied  Duff,  and  wrote  hurriedly. 

"Here,  take  this  through  to  your  colonel,"  he  said, 
passing  the  note  to  the  sergeant. 

Almost  immediately  Colonel  Kavanagh  came  out  and 
greeted  Duff  warmly. 

"Where  in  this  wide  creation  have  you  been,  Duff?" 
he  exclaimed.  "I've  wanted  you  terribly." 

"Here  I  am  now,  then,"  answered  Duff.  "Six  of  us. 
We're  going  with  you." 

"It  can't  be  done,"  said  the  colonel.  "I  have  only 
twenty  places  left;  every  one  promised  ten  times  over." 

"That  makes  it  easy,  Kavanagh.  You  can  give  six  of 
them  to  us." 

"Duff,  it  simply  can't  be  done.     You  know  I'd  give 


98       THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

it  to  you  if  I  could.  I've  wires  from  Ottawa  backing 
up  a  hundred  applicants,  actually  ordering  me  to  put 
them  on.  No!  It's  no  use,"  continued  the  colonel, 
holding  up  his  hand.  "Look  here,  I'll  give  you  a  pointer. 
We  have  got  word  to-day  that  there's  to  be  a  second 
contingent.  Neil  Fraser  is  out  there  in  your  district, 
Wapiti,  raising  a  company  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
men.  We  have  stripped  that  country  bare  already,  so 
he's  up  against  it.  He  wants  Wapiti  men,  he  says.  They 
are  no  better  than  any  other,  but  he  thinks  they  are.  You 
get  out  there  to-night,  Duff,  and  get  in  on  that  thing. 
You  will  get  a  commission,  too.  Now  hike!  Hike! 
Go !  Honest  to  God,  Duff,  I  want  you  with  my  battalion, 
and  if  I  can  work  it  afterwards,  I'll  get  you  exchanged, 
but  your  only  chance  now  is  Wapiti.  Go,  for  God's  sake, 
go  quick!" 

"What  do  you  say,  boys  ?"  asked  Duff,  wheeling  upon 
his  men. 

"I  say,  go!"  said  Knight. 

In  this  decision  they  all  agreed. 

"Go  it  is,"  said  Duff.  "Right  about  turn.  Good  luck, 
Kavanagh,  damn  you.  I  see  you  have  got  a  good  ser- 
geant there." 

"Who?  McDowell?  None  better.  You  couldn't  beat 
him,  eh?"  said  the  colonel  with  a  grin. 

The  sergeant  stood  at  attention,  with  a  wooden  face. 

"He's  the  kind  of  man  they  want  in  the  front  lines," 
said  Duff.  "The  devil  himself  couldn't  break  through 
where  he  is." 

"That's  why  I  have  him.    Good  luck.    Good-bye !" 

Throughout  the  night  they  marched,  now  and  then 
receiving  a  lift  from  a  ranch  wagon,  and  in  the  grey 
of  the  morning,  weary,  hungry,  but  resolute  for  a  place 
in  the  Wapiti  company,  they  made  the  village. 

Early  as  it  was,  Barry  found  his  father  astir,  with 
breakfast  in  readiness. 

"Hello,  boy!"  cried  his  father  running  to  him  with 
outstretched  hands. 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  99 

"Hello,  dad!"  answered  Barry.  His  father  threw  a 
searching  glance  over  his  son's  face  as  he  shook  his 
hand  warmly. 

"Not  a  word,  Barry,  until  you  eat.  Not  a  word.  Go 
get  ready  for  your  bath.  I'll  have  it  for  you  in  a 
minute.  No,  not  one  word.  Quick.  March.  That  is 
the  only  word  these  days.  As  you  eat  I'll  give  you  the 
news." 

Resolutely  he  refused  to  talk  until  he  saw  his  son  be- 
gin upon  his  breakfast.  Then  he  poured  forth  a  stream 
of  news.  The  whole  country  was  aflame  with  war  en- 
thusiam.  Alberta  had  offered  half  a  million  bushels 
of  oats  for  the  imperial  army,  and  a  thousand  horses 
or  more.  The  Calgary  district  had  recruited  two  thou- 
sand men,  the  Edmonton  district  as  many  more.  All 
over  Canada,  from  Vancouver  to  Halifax,  it  was  the 
same. 

From  the  Wapiti  district  twenty-six  ranchers,  furnish- 
ing their  own  horses,  had  already  gone.  Ewen  Innes 
was  in  Edmonton.  His  brother  Malcolm  was  in  uni- 
form, too,  and  his  young  brother  Jim  was  keen  to  enlist. 
Neil  Eraser  was  busy  raising  a  company  of  Wapiti  men. 
Young  Pickles  and  McCann  had  joined  up  as  buglers. 

And  so  the  stream  flowed,  Barry  listening  with  grave 
face  but  making  no  response. 

"And  I'm  glad  you're  back,  my  boy.  I'm  glad  you're 
back,"  said  his  father,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

The  rest  of  the  meal  was  eaten  in  silence.  They 
were  having  each  his  own  thoughts,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  their  life  together,  they  kept  their  thoughts  to 
themselves. 

"You're  going  to  your  office,  Dad,"  said  Barry,  when 
they  had  cleared  away,  and  set  the  house  in  order. 

"No,  the  office  is  closed,  and  will  be  for  some  time, 
I  imagine.  I'm  busy  with  Neil  Eraser.  I'm  acting  pay- 
master, quartermaster,  recruiting  sergeant,  and  half  a 
dozen  other  things." 


100     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I'll  go  down  with  you,"  said  Barry,  as  his  father 
rose  to  go. 

His  father  came  back  to  him,  put  his  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  and  said: 

"Barry,  I  want  you  to  go  to  bed." 

"Nonsense,  dad.  I'm  all  right.  I'm  going  downtown 
with  you." 

"Barry,"  said  his  father,  "we  have  hard  times  before 
us,  and  you  must  be  fit.  I  ask  you  to  go  to  bed  and 
sleep  there  this  forenoon.  You're  half  asleep  now.  This 
afternoon  we  shall  face  up  to  our  job. 

His  father's  voice  was  quietly  authoritative  and  Barry 
yielded. 

"All  right,  dad.  I'll  do  as  you  say,  and  this  after- 
noon— well,  we'll  see." 

At  the  noonday  meal  they  were  conscious  of  a  mutual 
restraint.  For  the  first  time  in  their  lives  they  were  not 
opening  to  each  other  their  innermost  souls.  The  ex- 
perience was  as  distressing  as  it  was  unusual.  The  father, 
as  if  in  dread  of  silence,  was  obviously  exerting  himself 
to  keep  a  stream  of  talk  flowing.  Barry  was  listening 
with  a  face  very  grave  and  very  unlike  the  bright  and 
buoyant  face  he  usually  carried.  They  avoided  each 
other's  eyes,  and  paid  little  heed  to  their  food. 

At  length  Barry  pushed  back  his  chair. 

"Will  you  excuse  me,  dad,"  he  said.  "I  think  I  shall 
step  out  a  moment  into  the  garden." 

"Do,  Barry,"  said  his  father,  in  obvious  relief.  "You 
are  fagged  out,  my  boy." 

"Thanks,  dad.    I  am  a  bit  played  out." 

"And  take  it  easy  this  afternoon,  Barry.  To-night 
you  will  tell  me  about  your  trip,  and — and — we'll  have  a 
talk." 

"Good  old  dad!"  said  Barry.  "You  do  understand  a 
chap.  See  you  later,  then,"  he  called  back  as  he  passed 
through  the  door. 

His  father  sat  gazing  before  him  for  some  moments 
with  a  deep  shadow  on  his  face. 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  101 

"There  is  something  wrong  with  that  boy,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "I  wish  I  knew  what  it  was." 

He  set  his  house  in  order,  moving  heavily  as  if  a 
sudden  weight  of  years  had  fallen  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  took  his  way  slowly  down  the  street. 

"I  wonder  what  it  is,"  he  mused,  refusing  to  give  form 
to  a  horrible  thought  that  hovered  like  a  spectre  about 
the  windows  of  his  soul. 

The  first  glance  at  his  son's  face  at  the  time  of  the  eve- 
ning meal  made  his  heart  sing  within  him. 

"He's  all  right  again !  He's  all  right !"  he  said  to  him- 
self jubilantly. 

"Hello,  dad,"  cried  Barry,  as  his  father  entered  the 
room.  "Supper's  just  ready.  How  do  you  feel,  eh?" 

"Better,  my  boy — first  rate,  I  mean.  I'm  properly 
hungry.  You're  rested,  I  can  see." 

"I'm  all  right,  dad!  .  I'm  all  right!"  cried  Barry,  in 
his  old  cheery  way.  "Dad,  I  want  to  apologise  to  you. 
I  wasn't  myself  to-day,  but  now  I'm  all  right  again.  Dad, 
I've  joined  up.  I'm  a  soldier  now,"  he  said  with  a  smile 
on  his  face,  but  with  anxious  eyes  turned  on  his  father. 

"Joined  up!"  echoed  his  father.  "Barry,  you  have 
enlisted!  Thank  God,  my  boy.  I  feared — I  thought — 
No,  damned  if  I  did!"  he  added,  with  such  an  unusual 
burst  of  passion  that  Barry  could  only  gaze  at  him  with 
astonishment. 

"Forgive  me,  my  boy,"  he  said,  coming  forward 
with  outstretched  hand.  "For  a  moment  I  confess  I 

thought "  Again  he  paused,  apparently  unable  to 

continue. 

"You  thought,  dad,"  cried  Barry,  "and — forgive  me, 
dad — I  thought  too.  I  ought  to  have  known  you  better." 

"And  I,  you,  my  son." 

They  shook  hands  with  each  other  in  an  ecstasy  of 
jubilation. 

"My  God,  I'm  glad  that's  through,"  said  the  older  man. 
"We  were  both  fools,  Barry,  but  thank  God  that  horror 
is  past.  Now  tell  me  all  about  everything — your  trip, 


102     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

your  plans.     Let's  have  a  good  talk  as  we  always  do." 

"Come  on  then,  dad,"  cried  Barry.  "Let's  have  an  eat 
first.  By  Jove,  I  feel  a  thousand  years  younger.  I  go 
to  the  M.O.  to-morrow  for  an  examination." 

"He  is  quite  unusually  severe  in  his  interpretation  of 
the  regulations,  I  understand,"  said  his  father.  "He  is 
turning  men  down  right  and  left.  He  knows,  of  course, 
that  there  are  plenty  to  choose  from.  But  there  is  no  fear 
of  your  fitness,  Barry." 

"Not  much,"  said  Barry,  with  a  gay  laugh. 

Never  had  they  spent  a  happier  evening  together. 
True,  the  spectre  of  war  would  thrust  itself  upon  them, 
but  they  faced  it  as  men — with  a  full  appreciation  of  its 
solemn  reality,  but  without  fear,  and  with  a  quiet  deter- 
mination to  make  whatever  sacrifice  might  be  demanded 
of  them.  The  perfect  understanding  that  had  always 
marked  their  intercourse  with  each  other  was  restored. 
The  intolerable  burden  of  mutual  uncertainty  in  regard  to 
each  other's  attitude  toward  the  war  was  lifted.  All 
shadows  that  lay  between  them  were  gone.  Nothing  else 
really  mattered. 

The  day  following,  Barry  received  a  rude  shock.  The 
M.O.,  after  an  examination,  to  his  amazement  and  dis- 
may, pronounced  him  physically  unfit  for  service. 

"And  why,  pray?"  cried  his  father  indignantly,  when 
Barry  announced  the  astounding  report.  "Is  the  man  a 
fool  ?  I  understood  that  he  was  strict.  But  you !  unfit ! 
It  is  preposterous.  Unfit!  how?" 

"Heart  murmur,"  said  Barry.  "Sets  it  down  to  asthma. 
You  remember  I  told  you  I  had  a  rotten  attack  after  my 
experience  last  week  in  the  river.  He  suggested  that  I 
apply  for  a  position  in  an  ambulance  corps,  and  he  is  giv- 
ing me  a  letter  to  Colonel  Sidleigh  at  Edmonton.  I  am 
going  to-morrow  to  Edmonton  to  see  Sidleigh,  and  be- 
sides I  have  some  church  business  to  attend  to.  I  must 
call  upon  my  superintendent.  You  remember  I  made  an 
application  to  him  for  another  mission  field." 

He  found  Colonel  Sidleigh  courteously  willing  to  ac- 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS 

cept  his  application,  the  answer  to  which,  he  was  in- 
formed, he  might  expect  in  a  fortnight ;  and  so  went  with 
a  comparatively  light  heart  to  his  interview  with  his 
superintendent. 

The  interview,  however,  turned  out  not  entirely  as  he 
had  expected.  He  went  with  an  idea  of  surrendering  his 
appointment.  His  superintendent  made  him  an  offer  of 
another  and  greater. 

"So  they  turned  you  down,"  said  the  superintendent. 
"Well,  I  consider  it  most  providential.  You  have  applied 
for  a  position  on  the  ambulance  corps.  As  fine  as  is  that 
service,  and  as  splendid  as  are  its  possibilities,  I  offer  you 
something  much  finer,  and  I  will  even  say  much  more 
important  to  our  army  and  to  our  cause.  We  are  in  need 
of  men  for  the  Chaplain  Service,  and  for  this  service  we 
demand  the  picked  men  of  our  church.  The  appointments 
that  have  been  made  already  are  some  of  them  most  un- 
suitable, some,  I  regret  to  say,  scandalous.  Let  me  tell 
you,  sir,  of  an  experience  in  Winnipeg  only  last  week. 
It  was  my  fortune  to  fall  in  with  the  commanding  officer 
of  a  Saskatchewan  unit.  I  found  him  in  a  rage  against 
the  church  and  all  its  officials.  His  chaplain  had  become 
so  hilarious  at  the  mess  that  he  was  quite  unable  to  carry 
on." 

"Hilarious?"  inquired  Barry. 

"Hilarious,  sir.  Yes,  plain  drunk.  Think  of  it.  Think 
of  the  crime!  the  shame  of  it!  A  man  charged  with  the 
responsibility  of  the  souls  of  these  men  going  to  war — 
possibly  to  their  death — drunk,  in  their  presence !  A  man 
standing  for  God  and  the  great  eternal  verities,  incapaci- 
tated before  them!  I  took  the  matter  up  with  Ottawa, 
and  I  have  this  satisfaction  at  least,  that  I  believe  that 
no  such  appointment  will  ever  be  made  again.  That 
chaplain,  I  may  say  too,  has  been  dismissed.  I  have 
here,  sir,  a  mission  field  suitable  to  your  ability  and  ex- 
perience. I  shall  not  offer  it  to  you.  I  am  offering  you 
the  position  of  chaplain  in  one  of  our  Alberta  battalions." 

Barry  stood  before  him,  dumb  with  dismay. 


104     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Of  course,  I  want  to  go  to  the  war,"  he  said  at  length, 
"but  I  am  sure,  sir,  I  am  not  the  man  for  the  position  you 
offer  me." 

"Sir,"  said  the  superintendent,  "I  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  sending  in  your  name.  Time  was  an  element.  Ap- 
pointments were  being  rapidly  made,  and  I  was  extremely 
anxious  that  you  should  go  with  this  battalion.  I  confess 
to  a  selfish  interest.  My  own  boy,  Duncan,  has  enlisted 
in  that  unit,  and  many  of  our  finest  young  men  with  him. 
I  assumed  the  responsibility  of  asking  for  your  appoint- 
ment. I  must  urge  you  solemnly  to  consider  the  matter 
before  you  decline." 

Eloquently  Barry  pleaded  his  unfitness,  instancing  his 
failure  as  a  preacher  in  his  last  field. 

"I  am  not  a  preacher,"  he  protested.  "I  am  not  a 
'mixer.'  They  all  say  so.  I  shall  be  impossible  as  a 
chaplain." 

"Young  man,"  said  the  superintendent,  a  note  of  stern- 
ness in  his  voice,  "you  know  not  what  transformations  in 
character  this  war  will  work.  Would  I  were  twenty 
years  younger,"  he  added  passionately,  "twenty  years 
sounder.  Think  of  the  opportunity  to  stand  for  God 
among  your  men,  to  point  them  the  way  of  duty,  and  fit 
them  for  it,  to  bring  them  comfort,  when  they  need  com- 
fort sorely,  to  bring  them  peace,  when  they  most  need 
peace." 

Barry  came  away  from  the  interview  more  disturbed 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  After  he  had  returned 
to  his  hotel,  a  message  from  his  superintendent  recalled 
him. 

"I  have  a  bit  of  work  to  do,"  he  said,  "in  which  I 
need  your  help.  I  wish  you  to  join  me  in  a  visitation  of 
some  of  the  military  camps  in  this  district.  We  start  this 
evening." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey  his  superintend- 
ent's orders.  The  two  weeks'  experience  with  his  chief 
gave  Barry  a  new  view  and  a  new  estimate  of  the  chap- 
lain's work.  As  he  came  into  closer  touch  with  camp  life 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  105 

and  its  conditions,  he  began  to  see  how  great  was  the 
soldier's  need  of  such  moral  and  spiritual  support  as  a 
chaplain  might  be  able  to  render.  He  was  exposed  to 
subtle  and  powerful  temptations.  He  was  deprived  of 
the  wonted  restraints  imposed  by  convention,  by  environ- 
ment, by  family  ties.  The  reactions  from  the  exhaustion 
of  physical  training,  from  the  monotonous  routine  of 
military  discipline,  from  loneliness  and  homesickness  were 
such  as  to  call  for  that  warm,  sympathetic,  brotherly  aid, 
and  for  the  uplifting  spiritual  inspiration  that  it  is  a  chap- 
lain's privilege  to  offer.  But  in  proportion  as  the  service 
took  on  a  nobler  and  loftier  aspect,  was  Barry  con- 
scious to  a  corresponding  degree  of  his  own  unfitness 
for  the  work. 

When  he  returned  to  the  city,  he  found  no  definite  in- 
formation awaiting  him  in  regard  to  a  place  in  the 
ambulance  corps.  He  returned  home  in  an  unhappy  and 
uncertain  frame  of  mind. 

But  under  the  drive  of  war,  events  were  moving 
rapidly  in  Barry's  life.  He  arrived  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  proceeding  to  the  military  H.Q.,  he  found  neither  his 
father  nor  Captain  Neil  Fraser  in  the  office. 

"Gone  out  for  the  afternoon,  sir,"  was  the  word  from 
the  orderly  in  charge. 

Wandering  about  the  village,  he  saw  in  a  field  at  its 
outskirts,  a  squad  of  recruits  doing  military  evolutions 
and  physical  drill.  As  he  drew  near  he  was  arrested  by 
the  short,  snappy  tones  of  the  N.C.O.  in  charge. 

"That  chap  knows  his  job,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
looks  like  his  job,  too,"  he  added,  as  his  eyes  rested  upon 
the  neat,  upright,  soldier-like  figure. 

Captain  Neil  he  found  observing  the  drill  from  a 
distance. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  he  called  out  to  Barry, 
as  the  latter  came  within  hailing  distance.  "What  do  you 
think  of  my  sergeant?" 

"Fine,"  replied  Barry.    "Where  did  you  get  him  ?" 

"What?    Look  at  him!" 


106     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  am.     Pretty  natty  sergeant  he  makes,  too." 

"Let's  go  out  there,  and  I'll  introduce  him." 

As  they  crossed  the  parade  ground,  the  sergeant 
dropped  his  military  tone  and  proceeded  to  explain  in  his 
ordinary  voice  some  details  in  connection  with  the  drill. 
Barry,  catching  the  sound  of  his  voice,  stopped  short. 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Captain  Neil!    Not  dad,  is  it?" 

"Nobody  else,"  said  Captain  Neil.  "Wait  a  minute. 
Wait  and  let's  watch  him  at  his  work." 

For  some  time  they  stood  observing  the  work  of  the 
new  sergeant.  Barry  was  filled  with  amazement  and 
delight. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  inquired  Captain  Neil. 

But  Barry  made  no  reply. 

"My  company  sergeant  major  got  drunk,"  continued 
Captain  Neil.  "I  had  no  one  to  take  the  drill.  I  asked 
your  father  to  take  it.  He  nearly  swept  us  off  our  feet. 
In  consequence,  there  he  stands,  my  company  sergeant 
major,  and  let  me  tell  you,  he  will  be  the  regimental 
sergeant  major  before  many  weeks  have  passed,  or  I'm 
a  German." 

"But  his  age,"  inquired  Barry,  still  in  a  maze  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  You  don't  want  them  too  young. 
I  assured  the  authorities  that  he  was  of  proper  military 
age,  telling  them,  at  the  same  time,  that  I  must  have  him. 
He's  a  wonder,  and  the  men  just  adore  him." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  that,"  said  Barry. 

Together  they  moved  over  to  the  squad.  The  ser- 
geant, observing  his  officer,  called  his  men  smartly  to 
attention,  and  greeted  the  captain  with  a  very  snappy 
salute. 

"Sergeant  major,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend, 
Mr.  Barry  Dunbar,"  said  Captain  Neil  with  a  grin. 

"I  say,  dad,"  said  Barry,  still  unable  to  associate  his 
father  with  this  N.C.O.  in  uniform  who  stood  before  him. 
"I  say,  dad,  where  did  you  get  all  that  military  stuff?" 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  107 

"I'm  very  rusty,  my  boy,  very  rusty !  I  hope  to  brush 
up,  though.  The  men  are  improving,  I  think,  sir." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  Captain  Neil.  "How  is  that  wild 
man  from  Athabasca  doing?" 

"He  is  finding  it  hard  work,  sir,  I'm  afraid.  He  finds 
it  difficult  to  connect  up  this  drill  business  with  the  busi- 
ness of  war.  He  wants  to  go  right  off  and  kill  Germans. 
But  he  is  making  an  effort  to  put  up  with  me." 

"And  you,  with  him,  eh,  sergeant  major?  But  turn 
them  loose.  They  have  done  enough  for  to-day,  and  I 
know  your  son  wants  to  take  you  off  with  him,  and  get 
you  to  explain  how  you  go  into  the  army." 

The  explanation  came  as  they  were  walking  home  to- 
gether. v 

"You  see,  boy,  I  felt  keenly  your  disappointment  in  be- 
ing rejected  from  the  fighting  forces  of  the  country.  I 
felt  too  that  our  family  ought  to  be  represented  in  the 
fighting  line,  so  when  Captain  Fraser  found  himself  in 
need  of  a  drill  sergeant,  I  could  hardly  refuse.  I  would 
have  liked  to  have  consulted  you,  my  boy,  but " 

"Not  at  all,  dad ;  you  did  perfectly  right.  It  was  just 
fine  of  you.  I'm  as  proud  as  Punch.  I  only  wish  I  could 
go  with  you.  I'd  like  to  be  in  your  squad.  But  never 
mind,  I've  two  jobs  open  to  me  now,  and  I  sorely  need 
your  advice." 

Together  they  talked  over  the  superintendent's  offer 
of  the  position  of  chaplain. 

"I  can't  see  myself  a  chaplain,  dad.  The  position  calls 
for  an  older  man,  a  man  of  wider  experience.  Many  of 
these  men  would  be  almost  twice  my  age.  Now  the  su- 
perintendent himself  would  be  the  man  for  the  job.  You 
ought  to  see  him  at  his  work  with  the  soldiers.  I  really 
can't  think  I'm  fit." 

In  this  opinion  his  father  rather  concurred. 

"An  older  man  would  be  better,  Barry — a  man  of  more 
experience  would  be  of  more  service,  and,  yet  I  don't 
know.  One  thing  I  am  sure  of,  if  you  accept  the  posi- 


108     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

tion,  I  believe  you  will  fill  it  worthily.  After  all,  in  every 
department,  this  war  is  a  young  man's  job." 

"Of  course,"  said  Barry.  "If  I  went  as  chaplain,  it 
would  be  in  your  unit,  dad,  and  that  would  be  altogether 
glorious." 

"I  do  hope  so.  But  we  must  not  allow  that,  however, 
to  influence  our  decision,"  replied  his  father. 

"I  know,  I  know!"  hurriedly  agreed  Barry.  "I  trust 
I  would  not  be  unduly  influenced  by  personal  considera- 
tions." 

This  hope,  however,  was  rudely  dashed  by  an  unex- 
pected call  for  a  draft  of  recruits  from  Captain  Neil's 
company  that  came  through  from  Colonel  Kavanagh  to 
replace  a  draft  suddenly  dispatched  to  make  up  to 
strength  another  western  regiment.  Attached  to  the  call 
there  was  a  specific  request,  which  amounted  to  a  demand 
for  the  sergeant  major,  for  whose  special  qualifications 
as  physical  and  military  instructor  there  was  apparently 
serious  need  in  Colonel  Kavanagh's  regiment. 

With  great  reluctance,  and  with  the  expenditure  of 
considerable  profanity,  Captain  Neil  Fraser  dispatched 
his  draft  and  agreed  to  the  surrender  of  his  sergeant 
major. 

The  change  came  as  a  shock  to  both  Barry  and  his 
father.  For  some  days  they  had  indulged  the  hope  that 
they  would  both  be  attached  to  the  same  military  unit, 
and  unconsciously  this  had  been  weighing  with  Barry  in 
his  consideration  of  his  probable  appointment  as  chaplain. 

The  disappointment  of  their  hope  was  the  more  bitter 
when  it  was  announced  that  Colonel  Kavanagh's  battalion 
was  warned  for  immediate  service  overseas,  and  the  fur- 
ther announcement  that  in  all  probability  the  new  bat- 
talion, to  which  the  Wapiti  company  would  be  attached, 
might  not  be  dispatched  until  some  time  in  the  spring. 

"But  you  may  catch  us  up  in  England,  Barry,"  said 
his  father,  when  Barry  was  deploring  their  ill  luck. 
"No  one  knows  what  our  movements  will  be.  I  do  wish, 
however,  that  your  position  were  definitely  settled." 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  109 

The  decision  in  this  matter  came  quickly,  and  was, 
without  his  will  or  desire,  materially  hastened  by  Barry 
himself. 

Colonel  Kavanagh's  battalion  being  under  orders  to  de- 
part within  ten  days,  a  final  Church  Parade  was  ordered, 
at  which  only  soldiers  and  their  kin  were  permitted  to 
be  present.  The  preacher  for  the  day  falling  ill  from  an 
overweight  of  war  work,  and  Barry  being  in  the  city 
with  nothing  to  do,  the  duty  of  preaching  at  this  Parade 
Service  was  suddenly  thrust  upon  him. 

To  his  own  amazement  and  to  that  of  his  father, 
Barry  accepted  without  any  fear  or  hesitation  this  duty 
which  in  other  circumstances  would  have  overwhelmed 
him  with  dismay.  But  to  Barry  the  occasion  was  of  such 
surpassing  magnitude  and  importance  that  all  personal 
considerations  were  obliterated. 

The  war,  with  its  horrors,  its  losses,  its  overwhelming 
sacrifice,  its  vast  and  eternal  issues,  was  the  single  fact 
that  filled  his  mind.  It  was  this  that  delivered  him  from 
that  nervous  self-consciousness,  the  preacher's  curse,  that 
paralyses  the  mental  activities,  chills  the  passions,  and 
cloggs  the  imagination,  so  that  his  sermon  becomes  a 
lifeless  repetition  of  words,  previously  prepared,  cor- 
rect, even  beautiful,  it  may  be  in  form,  logical  in  argu- 
ment, sound  in  philosophy,  but  dead,  dull  and  impotent, 
bereft  of  the  fire  that  kindles  the  powers  of  the  soul, 
the  emotion  that  urges  to  action,  the  imagination  that 
lures  to  high  endeavour. 

"I  beseech  you  therefore,  brethren,  by  the  mercies  of 
God,  that  ye  present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  holy, 
acceptable  unto  God,  which  is  your  reasonable  service." 

The  voice,  clear,  vibrant,  melodious,  arrested  with  its 
first  word  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  his  hearers,  and  so 
held  them  to  the  end.  With  the  earnest  voice  there  was 
the  fascination  of  a  face  alight  with  a  noble  beauty,  eyes 
glowing  as  with  lambent  flame. 

A  second  time  he  read  the  appealing  words,  then 
paused  and  allowed  his  eyes  to  wander  quietly  over  the 


110     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

congregation.  They  represented  to  him  in  that  hour 
the  manhood  and  womanhood  of  his  country.  Sincerely, 
with  no  attempt  at  rhetoric  and  with  no  employment  of 
any  of  its  tricks,  he  began  his  sermon. 

"This  war,"  he  said,  "is  a  conflict  of  ideals  eternally 
opposed.  Our  ambitious  and  ruthless  enemy  has  made 
the  issue  and  has  determined  the  method  of  settlement. 
It  is  a  war  of  souls,  but  the  method  of  settlement  is  not 
that  of  reason  but  that  of  force — a  force  that  finds  ex- 
pression through  your  bodies.  Therefore  the  appeal  of 
the  Apostle  Paul,  this  old-world  hero,  to  the  men  of  his 
time  reaches  down  to  us  in  this  day,  and  at  this  crisis  of 
the  world's  history.  Offer  your  bodies — these  living 
bodies — these  sacred  bodies — offer  them  in  sacrifice  to 
God." 

There  was  little  discussion  of  the  causes  of  the  war. 
What  need?  They  knew  that  this  war  was  neither  of 
their  desiring  nor  of  their  making.  There  was  no  at- 
tempt to  incite  hatred  or  revenge.  There  was  little  refer- 
ence to  the  horrors  of  war,  to  its  griefs,  its  dreadful 
agonies,  its  irreparable  losses. 

From  the  first  word  he  lifted  his  audience  to  the  high 
plane  of  sacrament  and  sacrifice.  They  were  called  upon 
to  offer  upon  the  altar  of  the  world's  freedom  all  that 
they  held  dear  in  life — yea,  life  itself!  It  was  the  ancient 
sacrifice  that  the  noblest  of  the  race  had  always  been 
called  upon  to  make.  In  giving  themselves  to  this  cause 
they  were  giving  themselves  to  their  country.  They  were 
offering  themselves  to  God.  In  simple  diction,  and  in 
clear  flowing  speech,  the  sermon  proceeded  without  pause 
or  stumbling  to  the  end.  The  preacher  closed  with  an 
appeal  to  the  soldiers  present  to  make  this  sacrifice  of 
theirs  at  once  worthy  and  complete.  These  bodies  of 
theirs  were  sacred  and  were  devoted  to  this  cause.  It 
was  their  duty  to  keep  them  clean  and  fit. 

For  a  few  brief  moments,  he  turned  to  the  others  pres- 
ent at  the  service — the  fathers,  mothers,  wives  and  sweet- 
hearts of  the  soldiers,  and  reminded  them  in  tones  thrill- 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  111 

ing  with  tenderness  and  sympathy  that  though  not  priv- 
ileged to  share  in  the  soldiers'  service  in  the  front  lines, 
none  the  less  might  they  share  in  this  sacrifice,  by  patient 
endurance  of  the  separation  and  loss,  by  a  cheerful  sub- 
mission to  trial,  and  by  continual  remembrance  in  prayer 
to  Almighty  God  of  the  sacred  cause  and  its  defend- 
ers they  might  help  to  bring  this  cause  to  victory. 

In  the  brief  prayer  that  followed  the  sermon,  in  words 
tender,  simple,  heart-moving,  he  led  the  people  in  solemn 
dedication  of  themselves,  soul  and  body,  to  their  country, 
to  their  cause,  to  their  God. 

The  effect  of  the  sermon  and  prayer  was  overpower- 
ing. There  were  no  tears,  but  men  walked  out  with  heads 
more  erect,  because  of  the  exaltation  of  spirit  which  was 
theirs.  And  women,  fearful  of  the  coming  hour  of  part- 
ing, felt  their  hearts  grow  strong  within  them  with  the 
thought  that  they  were  voluntarily  sending  their  men 
away.  Upon  the  whole  congregation  lay  a  new  and 
solemn  sense  of  duty,  a  new  and  uplifting  sense  of  priv- 
ilege in  making  the  sacrifice  of  all  that  they  counted 
precious  for  this  holy  cause. 

It  was  the  sermon  that  brought  the  decision  in  the  mat- 
ter of  Barry's  appointment. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Colonel  Kavanagh?" 
asked  Captain  Neil  Fraser,  who  came  in  for  the  service. 

"A  very  fine  sermon !  A  very  notable  sermon !"  said 
the  colonel.  "Who  is  he  ?" 

"He  is  my  own  minister,"  said  Captain  Neil,  "and  he 
gave  me,  to-day,  the  surprise  of  my  life.  I  didn't  know, 
it  was  in  him.  I  understand  there  is  a  chance  of  his  be- 
ing our  chaplain.  He  is  Sergeant  Dunbar's  son." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  we  could  take  him  with  us !  What 
about  it,  Fraser  ?  We've  got  the  father,  why  not  the  son, 
too  ?  They'd  both  like  it." 

"I  say,  Colonel,  for  Heaven's  sake,  have  a  heart.  I 
hated  to  surrender  my  company  sergeant  major.  I  don't 
think  I  ought  to  be  asked  to  surrender  our  chaplain." 

"All  right,  Fraser,  so  be  it.    But  you  have  got  a  won- 


derf ul  chaplain  in  that  boy.    What  a  face !    What  a  voice ! , 
And  that's  the  kind  of  a  spirit  we  want  in  our  men." 

That  very  afternoon,  Captain  Neil  went  straight  away 
to  Colonel  Leighton,  the  officer  commanding  the  new 
regiment  to  which  Captain  Neil's  company  belonged.  To 
the  colonel  he  gave  an  enthusiastic  report  of  the  sermon, 
with  Colonel  Kavanagh's  judgment  thereon. 

"I  would  suggest,  sir,  that  you  wire  Ottawa  on  the 
matter,"  he  urged.  "If  Colonel  Kavanagh  thought  he 
had  a  chance,  he  would  not  hesitate.  We  really  ought 
to  get  this  fixed.  I  assure  you  he's  a  find." 

"Go  to  it,  then,  Fraser.  I'm  rather  interested  to  see 
your  earnest  desire  for  a  chaplain.  The  Lord  knows  you 
need  one!  Go  up  to  Headquarters  and  use  my  name. 
Say  what  you  like." 

Thus  it  came  that  the  following  day  Barry  was  in- 
formed by  wire  of  his  appointment  as  chaplain  of  the  new 
regiment  of  Alberta  rangers. 

"It's  at  least  a  relief  to  have  the  matter"  settled,"  said 
his  father,  to  whom  Barry  brought  his  wire.  "Barry, 
I'm  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  tell  you  that  since  yes- 
terday, my  mind  has  undergone  considerable  change.  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  you  have  found  your  place  and  your 
work  in  the  war." 

"No,  dad,"  answered  Barry,  "I  wasn't  responsible  for 
that  sermon  yesterday.  The  war  was  very  near  and  very 
real  to  me.  Those  boys  were  looking  up  at  me,  and  you 
were  there,  dad.  You  drew  that  sermon  stuff  out  of 
me." 

"If  once,  why  not  again?  At  any  rate,  it  greatly  re- 
joiced me  to  know  that  it  was  there  in  you.  I  don't  say 
I  was  proud  of  you,  my  boy.  I  was  proud  of  you,  but  that 
is  not  the  word  that  I  should  like  to  use.  I  was  pro- 
foundly grateful  that  I  was  privileged  to  hear  a  sermon 
like  that  from  a  son  of  mine.  Now,  Barry,"  continued 
his  father,  "this  is  our  last  day  together  for  some  months, 
perhaps  forever,"  he  added  in  a  low  tone. 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  113 

"Don't,  daddy,  don't,"  cried  Barry,  "I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  that  to-day." 

"All  right,  Barry,  but  why  not?  It  is  really  far  bet- 
ter that  we  should  face  all  the  possibilities.  But  now 
that  we  have  this  day — and  what  a  perfect  day  it  is — 
for  our  last  day  together,  what  shall  we  do  with  it?" 

"I  know,  dad — I  think  you  would  wish  that  we  take 
our  ride  into  the  foothills  to-day." 

"It  was  in  my  mind,  my  boy.  I  hesitated  to  suggest 
it.  So  let  us  go." 

It  was  one  of  those  rare  November  days  that  only 
Alberta  knows,  mellow  with  the  warm  sun,  and  yet  with 
a  nip  in  it  that  suggested  the  coming  frost,  without  a 
ripple  of  the  wind  that  almost  constantly  sweeps  the  Al- 
berta ranges.  In  the  blue  sky  hung  motionless,  like  white 
ships  at  sea,  bits  of  cloud.  The  long  grass,  brown,  yellow 
and  green  in  a  hundred  shades,  lay  like  a  carpet  over  the 
rolling  hills  and  wide  spreading  valleys,  reaching  up  on 
every  side  to  the  horizon,  except  toward  the  west,  where 
it  faded  into  the  blue  of  the  foothills  at  the  bases  of  the 
mighty  Rockies. 

Up  the  long  trail,  resilient  to  their  horses'  feet,  they 
cantered  where  the  going  was  good,  or  picked  their  way 
with  slow  and  careful  tread  where  the  rocky  ridges  jut- 
ted through  the  black  soil. 

They  made  no  effort  to  repulse  the  thought  that  this 
was  their  last  day  together,  nor  did  they  seek  to  banish 
the  fact  of  the  war.  With  calm  courage  and  hope  they 
faced  the  facts  of  their  environment,  seeking  to  aid  each 
other  in  readjusting  their  lives  to  those  facts.  They 
were  resolutely  cheerful.  The  day  was  not  to  be  spoiled 
with  tears  and  lamentations.  Already  each  in  his  own 
place  and  time  had  made  his  sacrifice  of  a  comradeship 
that  was  far  dearer  than  life.  The  agony  of  that  hour, 
each  had  borne  in  silence  and  alone.  No  shadow  should 
fall  across  this  sunny  day. 

By  the  side  of  the  grave,  in  its  little  palisaded  enclosure, 
they  lingered,  the  father  recalling  the  days  of  his  earlier 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

manhood,  which  had  been  brightened  by  a  love  whose 
fragrance  he  had  cherished  and  shared  with  his  son 
through  their  years  together,  Barry  listening  with  rever- 
ent attention  and  tender  sympathy. 

"I  had  always  planned  that  I  too  should  be  laid  here, 
Barry,"  said  his  father,  as  they  prepared  to  take  their 
departure,  "but  do  you  know,  boy,  this  war  has  made 
many  changes  in  me  and  this  is  one.  It  seems  to  me  a 
very  little  thing  where  my  body  lies,  if  it  be  offered,  as 
you  were  saying  so  beautifully  yesterday,  in  sacrifice  to 
our  cause." 

Barry  could  only  nod  his  head  in  reply.  He  was  deep- 
ly moved. 

"You  are  young,  Barry,"  said  his  father,  noting  his 
emotion,  "and  life  is  very  dear  to  you,  my  boy." 

"No,  dad,  no!  Not  life,"  said  Barry  brokenly.  "Not 
life,  only  you,  dad.  I  just  want  you,  and,  oh  dad!" 
continued  the  boy,  losing  hold  of  himself  and  making  no 
effort  to  check  or  hide  the  tears  that  ran  down  his  face, 
"if  one  of  us  is  to  go  in  this  war, — as  is  likely  enough, — 
I  only  want  that  the  other  should  be  there  at  the  time. 
It  would  be — terribly — lonely — dad — to  go  out  myself — 
without  you.  Or  to  have  you  go  out — alone. — We  have 
always  been  together — and  you  have  been — so  very  good 
to  me,  dad.  I  can't  help  this,  dad, — I  try — but  I  am 
not  strong  enough — I'm  not  holding  back  from  the  sacri- 
fice, dad,"  hurrying  his  words, — "No,  no,  not  that,  but 
perhaps  you  understand." 

For  answer,  his  father  put  both  his  arms  around  his 
son,  drew  his  head  down  to  his  breast,  as  if  he  had  been 
a  child. 

"There,  there,  laddie,"  he  said,  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder,  "I  know,  I  know !  Oh  God,  how  I  know.  We 
have  lived  together  very  closely,  without  a  shadow  ever 
between  us,  and  my  prayer,  since  this  war  began,  has 
been  that  in  death,  if  it  had  to  be,  we  might  be  together, 
and,  Barry,  somehow  I  believe  God  will  give  us  that." 

"Good  old  dad,  good  old  boy !    What  a  brick  you  are ! 


BARRICADES  AND  BAYONETS  115 

I  couldn't  help  that,  dad.  Forgive  me  for  being  a  baby, 
and  spoiling  the  day " 

"Forgive  you,  boy,"  still  with  his  arms  around  his  son, 
"Barry,  I  love  you  for  it.  You've  never  brought  me  one 
sorrow  nor  will  you.  To-day  and  every  day  I  thank 
God  for  you,  my  son." 

They  rode  back  through  the  evening  toward  the  camp. 
By  the  time  they  arrived  there,  the  sun  had  sunk  behind 
the  mountains,  and  the  quiet  stars  were  riding  serenely 
above  the  broken,  floating  clouds,  and  in  their  hearts  was 
peace. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE 

GENTLEMEN,  may  I  introduce  Captain  Dunbar, 
your  sky-pilot,  padre,  chaplain,  anything  you  like? 
They  say  he's  a  devil  of  a  good  preacher.  The  Lord 
knows  you  need  one." 

So  Barry's  commanding  officer  introduced  him  to  the 
mess. 

He  bowed  in  different  directions  to  the  group  of  offi- 
cers who,  in  the  ante-room  of  the  mess,  were  having  a 
pre-prandial  cocktail.  Barry  found  a  place  near  the 
foot  of  the  table  and  for  a  few  minutes  sat  silent,  getting 
his  bearings. 

Some  of  the  officers  were  known  to  him.  He  had  met 
the  commanding  officer,  Colonel  Leighton,  a  typical, 
burly  Englishman,  the  owner  of  an  Alberta  horse  ranch, 
who,  well  to  do  to  begin  with,  had  made  money  during 
his  five  years  in  the  country.  He  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  sporting  man,  of  easy  morality,  fond  of  his 
glass  and  of  good  living.  He  owed  his  present  position, 
partly  to  political  influence,  and  partly  to  his  previous 
military  experience  in  the  South  African  war.  His  pop- 
ularity with  his  officers  was  due  largely  to  his  easy  dis- 
cipline, and  to  the  absence  of  that  rigidity  of  manner 
which  is  supposed  to  go  with  high  military  command, 
and  which  civilians  are  wont  to  find  so  irksome. 

Barry  had  also  met  Major  Bustead,  the  Senior  Major 
of  the  Battalion,  and  President  of  the  mess,  an  eastern 
Canadian,  with  no  military  experience  whatever,  but  with 
abounding  energy  and  ambition;  the  close  friend  and 
boon  companion  of  Colonel  Leighton,  he  naturally  had 
become  his  second  in  command.  Barry  was  especially  de- 

116 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  117 

lighted  to  observe  Major  Bayne,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
since  his  first  meeting  with  him  some  months  ago  on  the 
Red  Pine  Trail.  Captain  Neil  Eraser  and  Lieutenant 
Stewart  Duff  were  the  only  officers  about  the  table  whom 
he  recognised,  except  that,  among  the  junior  lieutenants, 
he  caught  the  face  of  young  Duncan  Cameron,  the  oldest 
son  of  his  superintendent,  and  a  fine,  clean-looking  young 
fellow  he  appeared. 

Altogether  Barry  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  clean, 
strong  faces  about  him.  He  would  surely  soon  find  good 
friends  among  them,  and  he  only  hoped  he  might  be 
able  to  be  of  some  service  to  them. 

The  young  fellow  on  his  right  introduced  himself  as 
Captain  Hopeton.  He  was  a  young  English  public  school 
boy,  who,  though  a  failure  as  a  rancher,  had  proved  an 
immense  success  in  the  social  circles  of  the  city.  Because 
of  this,  and  also  of  his  family  connections  "at  home,"  he 
had  been  appointed  to  a  Civil  Service  position.  A  rather 
bored  manner  and  a  supercilious  air  spoiled  what  would 
otherwise  have  been  a  handsome  and  attractive  face. 

After  a  single  remark  about  the  "beastly  bore"  of  mili- 
tary duty,  Hopeton  ignored  Barry,  giving  such  atten- 
tion as  he  had  to  spare  from  his  dinner  to  a  man  across 
the  table,  with  whom,  apparently,  he  had  shared  some 
rather  exciting  social  experiences  in  the  city. 

For  the  first  half  hour  of  the  meal,  the  conversation 
was  of  the  most  trivial  nature,  and  was  to  Barry  su- 
premely uninteresting.  "Shop  talk"  was  strictly  taboo, 
and  also  all  reference  to  the  war.  The  thin  stream  of  con- 
versation that  trickled  from  lip  to  lip  ran  the  gamut  of 
sport,  spiced  somewhat  highly  with  society  scandal  which, 
even  in  that  little  city,  appeared  to  flourish. 

To  Barry  it  was  as  if  he  were  in  a  strange  land  and 
among  people  of  a  strange  tongue.  Of  sport,  as  under- 
stood by  these  young  chaps,  he  knew  little,  and  of  scan- 
dal he  was  entirely  innocent;  so  much  so  that  many  of 
the  references  that  excited  the  most  merriment  were  to 
him  utterly  obscure.  After  some  attempts  to  introduce 


118     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

topics  of  conversation  which  he  thought  might  be  of 
mutual  interest,  but  which  had  fallen  quite  flat,  Barry 
gave  up,  and  sat  silent  with  a  desolating  sense  of  loneli- 
ness growing  upon  his  spirit. 

"After  the  port,"  when  smoking  was  permitted,  he 
was  offered  a  cigarette  by  Hopeton,  and  surprised  that 
young  man  mightily  by  saying  that  he  never  smoked. 
This  surprise,  it  is  to  be  feared,  deepened  into  disgust 
when,  a  few  moments  later,  he  declined  a  drink  from 
Hopeton's  whisky  bottle,  which  a  servant  brought  him. 

Liquors  were  not  provided  at  the  mess,  but  officers 
were  permitted  to  order  what  they  desired. 

As  the  bottles  circulated,  tongues  were  loosened.  There 
was  nothing  foul  in  the  talk,  but  more  and  more  pro- 
fanity, with  frequent  apology  to  the  chaplain,  began  to 
decorate  the  conversation.  Conscious  of  a  deepening  dis- 
gust with  his  environment,  and  of  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  isolation,  Barry  cast  vainly  about  for  a  means  of 
escape.  Of  military  etiquette  he  was  ignorant;  hence  he 
could  only  wait  in  deepening  disgust  for  the  O.C.  to  give 
the  signal  to  rise.  How  long  he  could  have  endured  is 
doubtful,  but  release  came  in  a  startling,  and,  to  most 
of  the  members  of  the  mess,  a  truly  horrifying  manner. 

In  one  of  those  strange  silences  that  fall  upon  even 
the  noisiest  of  companies,  Colonel  Leighton,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  somewhat  liberal  indulgence  in  his  whisky 
bottle,  began  the  relation  of  a  tale  of  very  doubtful 
flavour.  In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  that  followed  the 
tale,  Barry  rose  to  his  feet,  his  face  white  and  his  eyes 
aflame,  and  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  passion,  said : 

"May  I  be  excused,  sir?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  the  colonel  pleasantly,  add- 
ing after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "is  there  anything 
wrong,  Dunbar  ?  Are  you  ill  ?" 

"No,  sir."  Barry's  voice  had  the  resonant  quality  of 
a  cello  string.  "I  mean,  yes,  sir,"  he  corrected.  "I  am 
ill.  The  atmosphere  surrounding  such  a  tale  is  nauseat- 
ing to  me." 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  119 

In  the  horrified  silence  that  followed  his  remark,  he 
walked  out  from  the  room.  Upon  his  ears,  as  he  stood  in 
the  ante-room,  trembling  with  the  violence  of  his  passion, 
a  burst  of  laughter  fell.  A  sudden  wrath  like  a  hot 
flame  swept  his  body.  He  wheeled  in  his  tracks,  tore 
open  the  door,  and  with  head  high  and  face  set,  strode 
to  his  place  at  the  table  and  sat  down. 

Astonishment  beyond  all  words  held  the  company  in 
tense  stillness.  From  Barry's  face  they  looked  toward 
the  colonel,  who,  too  dum founded  for  speech  or  action, 
sat  gazing  at  his  chaplain.  Then  from  the  end  of  the 
table  a  few  places  down  from  Barry,  a  voice  was  heard. 

"Feel  better,  Dunbar?"  The  cool,  clear  voice  cut 
through  the  tense  silence  like  the  zip  of  a  sword. 

"I  do,  thank  you,  sir,"  looking  him  straight  in  the 
eye. 

"The  fresh  air,  doubtless,"  continued  the  cool  voice. 
"I  always  find  myself  that  even  a  whiff  of  fresh  air  is  a 
very  effective  antidote  for  threatening  vertigo.  I  re- 
member once "  continued  the  speaker,  dropping  into 

a  conversational  tone,  and  leaning  across  the  table  slight- 
ly toward  Barry,  "I  was  in  the  room  with  a  company  of 

men "  And  the  speaker  entered  upon  a  long  and 

none  too  interesting  relation  of  an  experience  of  his,  the 
point  of  which  no  one  grasped,  but  the  effect  of  which 
every  one  welcomed  with  the  prof oundest  relief.  He  was 
the  regimental  medical  officer,  a  tall,  slight  man,  with  a 
keen  eye,  a  pleasant  face  crowned  by  a  topknot  of  flaming 
hair,  and  with  a  little  dab  of  hair  of  like  colour  upon  his 
upper  lip,  which  he  fondly  cherished,  as  an  important 
item  in  his  military  equipment. 

"Say,  the  old  doc  is  a  lifesaver,  sure  enough,"  said  a, 
young  subaltern,  answering  to  the  name  of  "Sally,"  col- 
loquial for  Sal  ford,  as  he  stood  amid  a  circle  of  officers 
gathered  in  the  smoking  room  a  few  minutes  later.  "A 
lifesaver,"  repeated  Sally,  with  emphasis.  "He  can  have 
me  for  his  laboratory  collection  after  I'm  through." 

"He  is  one  sure  singing  bird,"  said  another  sub,  a 


120     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

stout,  overgrown  boy  by  the  name  of  Booth.  "The  nerve 
of  him,"  added  Booth  in  admiration. 

"Nerve !"  echoed  a  young  captain,  "but  what  about  the 
pilot's  nerve?" 

"Sui  generis,  Train,  I  should  say,"  drawled  Hopeton. 

"Suey,  who  did  you  say?"  inquired  Sally.  "What's 
her  second  name  ?  But  let  me  tell  )'ou  I  could  have  fallen 
on  his  neck  and  burst  into  tears  of  gratitude.  For  me," 
continued  Sally,  glancing  about  the  room,  "I  don't  hold 
with  that  dirt  stuff  at  mess.  It  isn't  necessary." 

"Beastly  bad  form,"  said  Hopeton,  "but,  good  Lord! 
Your  Commanding  Officer,  Sally!  There's  such  a  thing 
as  discipline,  you  know." 

"What  extraordinary  thing  is  it  that  Sally  knows?" 
inquired  Major  Bustead,  who  lounged  up  to  the  group. 

"We  were  discussing  the  padre's  break,  Major,  which 
for  my  part,"  drawled  Hopeton,  "I  consider  rotten  dis- 
cipline." 

"Discipline!"  snorted  the  major.  "By  Gad,  it  was  a 
piece  of  the  most  damnable  cheek  I  have  ever  heard  at 
a  mess  table.  He  ought  to  be  sent  to  Coventry.  I  only 
hope  the  O.C.  will  get  him  exchanged." 

The  major  made  no  effort  to  subdue  his  voice,  which 
was  plainly  audible  throughout  the  room. 

"Hush,  for.  God's  sake,"  warned  Captain  Train,  as 
Barry  entered  the  door.  "Here  he  is." 

But  Barry  had  caught  the  major's  words.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  irresolute;  then  walked  quietly  toward 
the  group. 

"I  couldn't  help  hearing  you,  Major  Bustead,"  he  said, 
in  a  voice  pleasant  and  under  perfect  control.  "I  gather 
you  were  referring  to  me." 

"I  was,  sir,"  said  the  major  defiantly. 

"And  why  should  I  be  sent  to  Coventry,  or  exchanged, 
may  I  ask  ?"  Barry's  voice  was  that  of  an  interested  out- 
sider. 

"Because,"  stuttered  the  Major,  "I  consider,  sir,  that 
— that — you  have  been  guilty  of  a  piece  of  damnable 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  121 

impertinence  toward  your  Commanding  Officer.  I  never 
heard  anything  like  it  in  my  life.  Infernal  cheek,  I  call 
it,  sir." 

While  the  major  was  speaking,  Barry  stood  listen- 
ing with  an  air  of  respectful  attention. 

"I  wonder!"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "If 
I  thought  I  had  been  impertinent,  I  should  at  once  apolo- 
gise. But,  sir,  do  you  think  it  is  part  of  my  duty  to  allow 
ary  man,  even  my  Commanding  Officer,  to — pardon  the 
disgusting  metaphor,  it  is  not  so  disgusting  as  the  action 
complained  of — to  spit  in  my  soup,  and  take  it  without 
protest?  Do  you,  sir?" 

"I — you "  The  major  grew  very  red  in  the  face. 

"You  need  to  learn  your  place  in  this  battalion,  sir." 

"I  do,"  said  Barry,  still  preserving  his  quiet  voice  and 
manner.  "I  want  to  learn — I  am  really  anxious  to  learn 
it.  Do  you  mind  answering  my  question?"  His  tone 
was  that  of  a  man  who  is  earnestly  but  quite  respectfully 
seeking  information  from  a  superior  officer. 

"Your  question,  sir?"  stuttered  the  major,  "your — 
your — question.  Damn  your  question,  and  yourself  too." 

The  major  turned  abruptly  away.  Barry  heard  him 
quite  unmoved,  stood  looking  after  him  in  silence  a 
moment  or  two,  then,  shaking  his  head,  with  a  puzzled 
expression  on  his  face,  moved  slowly  away  from  the 
group. 

"Oh,  my  aunt  Caroline,"  breathed  Sally  into  his  friend 
Hopeton's  ear,  resting  heavily  meanwhile  against  his 
shoulder.  "What  a  score!  What  a  score!" 

"A  bull,  begad!  a  clean  bull!"  murmured  Hopeton, 
supporting  his  friend  out  of  the  room  as  he  added,  "A 
little  fresh  air,  as  a  preventative  of  vertigo,  as  the  old  doc 
says,  eh,  Sally." 

"Good  Lord,  is  he  just  a  plain  ass,  or  what?"  in- 
quired young  Booth,  his  eye  following  Barry  down  the 
room. 

"Ass !    A  mule,  I  should  say.    And  one  with  a  good  lot 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

of  kick  in  him,"  replied  Captain  Train.  "I  don't  know 
that  I  care  for  that  kind  of  an  animal,  though." 

Before  many  hours  had  passed,  the  whole  battalion  had 
received  with  undiluted  joy  an  account  of  the  incident, 
for  though  the  Commanding  Officer  was  popular  with 
his  men,  to  have  him  called  down  at  his  own  mess  by  one 
of  his  own  officers  was  an  event  too  thrilling  to  give  any- 
thing but  unalloyed  delight  to  those  who  had  to  suffer  in 
silence  similar  indignities  at  the  hands  of  their  officers. 

A  notable  exception  in  the  battalion,  however,  was  Ser- 
geant Major  McFetteridge,  who,  because  of  his  military 
experience,  and  of  his  reputation  as  a  disciplinarian,  had 
been  recently  transferred  to  the  battalion.  To  the  ser- 
geant major  this  act  of  Barry's  was  but  another  and  more 
flagrant  example  of  his  fondness  for  "buttin'  in,"  and 
the  sergeant  major  let  it  be  known  that  he  strongly 
condemned  the  chaplain  for  what  he  declared  was  an 
unheard  of  breach  of  military  discipline. 

Of  course  there  were  others  who  openly  approved,  and 
who  admired  the  chaplain's  "nerve  in  standing  up  to  the 
old  man."  In  their  opinion  he  was  entirely  justified  in 
what  he  had  said.  The  O.C.  had  insulted  him,  and  every 
officer  at  the  mess,  by  his  off-colour  story,  but  on  the 
whole  the  general  result  of  the  incident  was  that  Barry's 
life  became  more  and  more  one  of  isolation  from  both 
officers  and  men.  For  this  reason  and  because  of  a 
Haunting  sense  of  failure  the  months  of  training  preced- 
ing the  battalion's  departure  for  England  were  for  Barry 
one  long  and  almost  uninterrupted  misery.  It  seemed  im- 
possible to  establish  any  point  of  contact  with  either  the 
officers  or  the  men.  In  their  athletics,  in  their  social  gath- 
erings, in  their  reading,  he  was  quietly  ignored  and  made 
to  fee*  that  he  was  in  no  way  necessary.  An  impalpable 
but  very  real  barrier  prevented  his  near  approach  to  those 
whom  he  was  so  eager  to  serve. 

This  unexpressed  opposition  was  quickened  into  active 
hostility  by  the  chaplain's  uncompromising  attitude  on 
the  liquor  question.  By  the  army  regulations,  the  bat- 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  123 

talion  canteen  was  dry,  but  in  spite  of  this  many,  both  of 
the  officers  and  the  men,  freely  indulged  in  the  use  of 
intoxicating  drink.  The  effect  upon  discipline  was,  of 
course,  deplorable,  and  in  his  public  addresses  as  well  as 
private  conversation,  Barry  constantly  denounced  these 
demoralising  habits,  winning  thereby  the  violent  dislike 
of  those  especially  affected,  and  the  latent  hostility  of  the 
majority  of  the  men  who  agreed  with  the  sergeant  major 
in  resenting  the  chaplain's  "buttin'  in." 

It  was,  therefore,  with  unspeakable  joy  that  Barry 
learned  that  the  battalion  was  warned  for  overseas  serv- 
ice. Any  change  in  his  lot  would  be  an  improvement, 
for  he  was  convinced  that  he  had  reached  the  limit  of 
wretchedness  in  the  exercise  of  his  duty  as  chaplain  of 
the  battalion. 

In  this  conviction,  however,  he  was  mistaken.  On 
shipboard,  he  discovered  that  there  were  still  depths  of 
misery  which  he  was  called  upon  to  plumb.  Assigned  to 
a  miserable  stateroom  in  an  uncomfortable  part  of  the 
ship,  he  suffered  horribly  from  seasickness,  and  for  the 
first  half  of  the  voyage  lay  foodless  and  spiritless  in  his 
bunk,  indifferent  to  his  environment  or  to  his  fate.  His 
sole  friend  was  his  batman,  Harry  Hobbs,  but,  of  course, 
he  could  not  confide  to  Harry  the  misery  of  his  body,  or 
the  deeper  misery  of  his  soul. 

It  was  Harry,  however,  that  brought  relief,  for  it  was 
he  that  called  the  M.O.  to  his  officer's  bedside.  The  M.O. 
was  shocked  to  find  the  chaplain  in  a  state  of  extreme 
physical  weakness,  and  mental  depression.  At  once, 
he  gave  orders  that  Barry  should  be  removed  to  his  own 
stateroom,  which  was  large  and  airy  and  open  to  the  sea 
breezes.  The  effect  was  immediately  apparent,  for  the 
change  of  room,  and  more  especially  the  touch  of  human 
sympathy,  did  much  to  restore  Barry  to  his  normal  health 
and  spirits.  A  friendship  sprang  up  between  the  M.O. 
and  the  chaplain.  With  this  friendship  a  new  interest 
came  into  Barry's  life,  and  with  surprising  rapidity  he 
regained  both  his  physical  and  mental  tone. 


124     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

The  doctor  took  him  resolutely  in  hand,  pressed  him  to 
take  his  part  in  the  daily  physical  drill,  induced  him  to 
share  the  daily  programme  of  sports,  and,  best  of  all,  dis- 
covering a  violin  on  board,  insisted  on  his  taking  a  place 
on  the  musical  programme  rendered  nightly  in  the  salon. 
As  might  be  expected,  his  violin  won  him  friends  among 
all  of  the  music  lovers  on  board  ship,  and  life  for  Barry 
began  once  more  to  be  bearable. 

Returning  strength,  however,  recalled  him  to  the  per- 
formance of  his  duties  as  chaplain,  and  straightway  in 
the  exercise  of  what  he  considered  his  duty,  he  came  into 
conflict  with  no  less  a  personage  than  the  sergeant  major 
himself.  The  trouble  arose  over  his  batman,  Harry 
Hobbs. 

Harry  was  a  man  who,  in  his  youthful  days,  had  been 
a  diligent  patron  of  the  London  music  halls,  and  in  con- 
sequence had  become  himself  an  amateur  entertainer  of 
very  considerable  ability.  His  sailor's  hornpipes,  Irish 
jigs,  his  old  English  North-country  ballads  and  his  coster 
songs  were  an  unending  joy  to  his  comrades.  Their  grat- 
itude and  admiration  took  forms  that  proved  poor 
Harry's  undoing,  and  besides  some  of  them  took  an 
unholy  joy  in  sending  the  chaplain's  batman  to  his  officer 
incapable  of  service. 

Barry's  indignation  and  grief  were  beyond  words.  He 
dealt  faithfully  with  the  erring  Hobbs,  as  his  minister, 
as  his  officer,  as  chaplain,  but  the  downward  drag  of  his 
environment  proved  too  great  for  his  batman's  powers 
of  resistance.  Once  and  again  Barry  sought  the  aid  of 
the  sergeant  major  to  rescue  Harry  from  his  downward 
course,  but  the  old  sergeant  major  was  unimpressed  with 
the  account  of  Harry's  lapses. 

"Is  your  batman  unfit  for  duty,  sir?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  he  is,  often,"  said  Barry  indignantly. 

"Did  you  report  him,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  sergeant 
major. 

"No,  I  did  not." 

"Then,  sir,  I  am  afraid  that  until  you  do  your  duty 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  125 

I  can  do  nothing,"  answered  the  sergeant  major,  with 
suave  respect. 

"If  you  did  your  duty,"  Barry  was  moved  to  say, 
"then  Hobbs  would  not  need  to  be  reported.  The  regu- 
lations governing  that  canteen  should  prevent  these  fre- 
quent examples  of  drunkenness,  which  are  a  disgrace  to 
the  battalion." 

"Do  I  understand,  sir,"  inquired  the  sergeant  major, 
with  quiet  respect,  "that  you  are  accusing  me  of  a  failure 
in  duty?" 

"I  am  saying  that  if  the  regulations  were  observed 
my  batman  and  others  would  not  be  so  frequently  drunk, 
and  the  enforcing  of  these  regulations,  I  understand,  is 
a  part  of  your  duty." 

"Then,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant  major,  "perhaps  I 
had  better  report  myself  to  the  Commanding  Officer." 

"You  can  please  yourself,"  said  Barry,  shortly,  as  he 
turned  away. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant  major.  "I 
shall  report  myself  at  once." 

The  day  following,  the  chaplain  received  an  order  to 
appear  before  the  O.C.  in  the  orderly  room. 

"Captain  Dunbar,  I  understand  that  you  are  making 
a  charge  against  Sergeant  Major  McFetteridge,"  was 
Colonel  Leighton's  greeting. 

"I  am  making  no  charge  against  any  one,  sir,"  replied 
Barry  quietly. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that,  Sergeant  Major  McFet- 
teridge?" 

In  reply,  the  sergeant  major  gave  a  full  and  fair  state- 
ment of  the  passage  between  the  chaplain  and  himself 
the  day  before. 

"Is  this  correct,  Captain  Dunbar?"  asked  the  O.C. 

"Substantially  correct,  sir,  except  that  the  sergeant 
major  is  here  on  his  own  suggestion,  and  on  no  order  of 
mine." 

"Then  I  understand  that  you  withdraw  your  charge 
against  the  sergeant  major." 


126     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  withdraw  nothing,  sir.  I  had  no  intention  of  laying 
a  charge,  and  I  have  laid  no  charge  against  the  sergeant 
major ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  have  no  hesitation  in  say- 
ing that  the  regulations  governing  the  canteen  are  not 
observed,  and,  as  I  understand  that  the  responsibility  for 
enforcing  these  regulations  is  in  the  sergeant  major's 
hands,  in  that  sense  I  consider  that  he  has  failed  in  his 
duty." 

But  the  sergeant  major  was  too  old  a  soldier  to  be 
caught  napping.  He  had  his  witnesses  ready  at  hand  to 
testify  that  the  canteen  was  conducted  according  to  regu- 
lations, and  that  if  the  chaplain's  batman  or  any  others 
took  more  liquor  than  they  should,  neither  the  corporal 
in  charge  of  the  canteen  nor  the  sergeant  major  was 
to  be  blamed. 

"All  I  can  say,  sir,"  replied  Barry,  "is  that  soldiers  are 
frequently  drunk  on  this  ship,  and  I  myself  have  seen 
them  when  the  worse  for  liquor  going  into  the  canteen." 

"And  did  you  report  these  men  to  their  officers  or  to 
me,  Captain  Dunbar,  or  did  you  report  the  corporal  in 
charge  of  the  canteen  ?" 

"No,  sir,  I  did  not." 

"Then  sir,  do  you  know  that  you  have  been  guilty  of 
serious  neglect  of  duty?"  said  the  colonel  sternly. 

"Do  I  understand,  sir,  that  it  is  my  duty  to  report  to 
you  every  man  I  see  the  worse  for  liquor  on  this  ship?" 

"Most  certainly,"  replied  the  colonel,  emphatically. 
"Every  breach  of  discipline  must  be  reported." 

"I  understood,  sir,  that  an  officer  had  a  certain  amount 
of  discretion  in  a  matter  of  this  kind." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  notion?"  inquired  the  colonel. 
"Let  me  tell  you  that  you  are  wrong.  Discretionary  pow- 
ers lie  solely  with  me." 

"Then,  sir,  I  am  to  understand  that  I  must  report 
every  man  whom  I  see  the  worse  for  liquor  ?" 

"Certainly,  sir," 

"And  every  officer,  as  well,  sir?" 


The  colonel  hesitated  a  moment,  fumbled  with  his 
papers,  and  then  blurted  out : 

"Certainly,  sir.  And  let  me  say,  Captain  Dunbar,  that 
an  officer,  especially  an  officer  in  your  position,  ought  to 
be  very  careful  in  making  a  charge  against  a  N.C.O., 
more  particularly  the  sergeant  major  of  his  battalion. 
Nothing  is  more  calculated  to  drag  down  discipline.  The 
case  is  dismissed." 

"Sir,"  said  Barry,  maintaining  his  place  before  the 
table.  "May  I  ask  one  question?" 

"The  case  is  dismissed,  Captain  Dunbar.  What  do  you 
want?"  asked  the  colonel  brusquely. 

"I  want  to  be  quite  clear  as  to  my  duty,  in  the  future, 
sir.  Do  I  understand  that  if  any  man  or  officer  is  found 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  anywhere  in  this  ship,  and 
at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  he  is  to  be  reported 
at  once  to  the  orderly  room,  even  though  that  officer 
should  be,  say,  even  the  adjutant  or  yourself?"  Barry 
said,  gazing  up  at  the  colonel  with  a  face  in  which 
earnestness  and  candour  were  equally  blended. 

The  colonel  gazed  back  at  him  with  a  face  in  which 
rage  and  perplexity  were  equally  apparent.  For  some 
moments,  he  was  speechless,  while  the  whole  orderly 
room  held  its  breath. 

"I  mean — that  you — you  understand — of  course," 
stuttered  the  colonel,  "that  an  officer  must  use  common 
sense.  He  must  be  damned  sure  of  what  he  says,  in 
other  words,"  said  the  colonel,  rushing  his  speech. 

"But,  sir,"  continued  Barry. 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil,  sir,"  roared  the  colonel.  "The 
case  is  dismissed." 

Barry  saluted  and  left  the  room. 

"Is  the  man  an  infernal  and  condemned  fool,  or  what 
is  the  matter  with  him?"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  turning 
to  his  adjutant  in  a  helpless  appeal,  while  the  orderly 
room  struggled  with  its  grins. 

"The  devil  only  knows,"  said  Major  Bustead.     "He 


128     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

beats  me.  He  is  an  interfering  and  impertinent  ass,  in 
my  opinion,  but  what  else  he  is,  I  don't  know." 

It  is  fair  to  say  that  the  sergeant  major  bore  the  chap- 
lain no  grudge  for  his  part  in  the  affair.  The  whole 
battalion,  however,  soon  became  possessed  of  the  tale, 
adorned  and  expanded  to  an  unrecognisable  extent,  and 
revelled  in  ecstasy  over  the  discomfort  of  the  C.O.  The 
consensus  of  opinion  was  that  on  the  whole  the  sergeant 
major  had  come  off  with  premier  honours,  and  as  be- 
tween the  "old  man"  and  the  "Sky  Pilot,"  as  Barry  was 
coming  to  be  called,  it  was  about  an  even  break.  As  for 
the  Pilot,  he  remained  more  than  ever  a  mystery,  and  on 
the  whole,  the  battalion  was  inclined  to  leave  him  alone. 

The  chaplain,  however,  had  partially,  at  least,  achieved 
his  aim,  in  that  the  regulations  governing  the  canteen 
were  more  strictly  enforced,  to  the  vast  improvement  of 
discipline  generally,  and  to  the  immense  advantage  of 
Harry  Hobbs  in  particular. 

Soon  after  this,  another  event  occurred  which  aided 
materially  in  bringing  about  this  same  result,  and  which 
also  led  to  a  modification  of  opinion  in  the  battalion  in 
regard  to  their  chaplain. 

To  the  civilian  soldier  the  punctilio  of  military  etiquette 
is  frequently  not  only  a  bore,  but  at  times  takes  on  the 
appearance  of  wilful  insult  which  no  grown  man  should 
be  expected  to  tolerate.  To  the  civilian  soldier  born  and 
brought  up  in  wide  spaces  of  the  far  Northwest  this  is 
especially  the  case. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  McCuaig,  fresh 
from  his  thirty-five  years  of  life  in  the  Athabasca  wilds, 
should  find  the  routine  of  military  discipline  extremely 
irksome  and  the  niceties  of  military  etiquette  as  from  a 
private  to  an  officer  not  only  foolish  but  degrading  both 
to  officer  and  man.  Under  the  patient  shepherding  of 
Barry's  father,  he  had  endured  much  without  protest  or 
complaint,  but,  with  the  advent  of  Sergeant  Major  Mc- 
Fetteridge,  with  his  rigid  military  discipline  and  his  strict 
insistence  upon  etiquette,  McCuaig  passed  into  a  new  at- 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  129 

mosphere.  To  the  f reeborn  and  f reebred  recruit  from  the 
Athabasca  plains,  the  stiff  and  somewhat  exaggerated 
military  bearing  of  the  sergeant  major  was  at  first  a 
source  of  quiet  amusement,  later  of  perplexity,  and 
finally  of  annoyance.  For  McFetteridge  and  his  minutiae 
of  military  discipline  McCuaig  held  only  contempt.  To 
him,  the  whole  business  was  a  piece  of  silly  nonsense 
unworthy  of  serious  men. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  sergeant  major  should  sooner 
or  later  discover  this  opinion  in  Private  McCuaig,  and 
that  he  should  consider  the  holding  of  this  opinion  as  a 
tendency  toward  insubordination.  It  was  also  inevitable 
that  the  sergeant  major  should  order  a  course  of  special 
fatigues  calculated  to  subdue  the  spirit  of  the  insubordi- 
nate private. 

It  took  McCuaig  some  days  to  discover  that  in  these 
frequent  fatigues  and  special  duties,  he  was  undergoing 
punishment,  but  once  made,  the  discovery  wrought  in 
him  a  cold  and  silent  rage,  which  drove  him  to  an  undue 
and  quite  unwonted  devotion  to  the  canteen,  which  in  turn 
transformed  the  reserved,  self-controlled  man  of  the  wilds 
into  a  demonstrative,  disorderly  and  quarrelsome  "rookie" 
aching  for  trouble. 

Under  these  circumstances,  an  outburst  was  inevitable. 
Corporal  Ferry,  in  charge  of  the  canteen,  furnished  the 
occasion. 

"No  more  for  you,  McCuaig.  You've  got  more  aboard 
now  than  you  can  carry." 

To  the  injury  of  being  denied  another  beer  was  added 
the  insult  of  suggesting  his  inability  to  carry  what  he 
had.  This  to  a  man  of  McCuaig's  experience  in  every 
bar  and  camp  and  roadhouse  from  Edmonton  to  the 
Arctic  circle,  was  not  to  be  endured. 

He  leaned  over  the  improvised  bar,  until  his  face  al- 
most touched  the  corporal's. 

"What?"  he  ejaculated,  but  in  the  single  expletive  there 
darted  out  such  concentrated  fury,  that  the  little  cor- 
poral sprang  back  as  from  a  striking  snake. 


130     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"You  can't  have  any  more  beer,  McCuaig,"  said  the 
corporal,  from  a  safe  distance. 

"Watch  me,  sonny !"  replied  McCuaig. 

With  a  single  sweep  of  his  hand,  he  snatched  two  bot- 
tles from  the  ledge  behind  the  corporal's  head.  Holding 
one  aloft,  he  knocked  the  top  off  the  other,  drank  its  con- 
tents slowly  and  smashed  the  empty  bottle  at  the  spot 
where  the  corporal's  head  had  been;  knocked  the  top 
off  the  second  bottle  and  was  proceeding  to  drink  it, 
in  a  more  or  less  leisurely  fashion. 

"Private  Timms!  Private  Mulligan!"  shouted  Cor- 
poral Ferry,  reappearing  from  beneath  the  counter.  "Ar- 
rest that  man!" 

"Wait,  sonny;  give  me  a  chance,"  cried  McCuaig,  in 
a  wild,  high,  singsong  voice.  Lifting  his  bottle  to  his 
lips,  he  continued  to  drink  slowly,  keeping  his  eye  upon 
the  two  privates,  who  were  considering  the  best  method  of 
carrying  out  their  orders. 

"There,  sonny,  fill  that  up  again,"  cried  McCuaig, 
goodnaturedly,  when  he  had  finished  his  drink,  tossing  the 
second  bottle  at  the  head  of  the  corporal,  who,  being  on 
the  alert,  again  made  a  successful  disappearance. 

"Now,  then,  boys,  come  on,"  said  McCuaig,  backing 
toward  the  wall,  and  dropping  his  hands  to  his  hips. 
With  a  curse  of  disappointment  that  he  found  himself 
without  his  usual  weapons  of  defence,  McCuaig  raised  a 
shout,  sprang  into  the  air,  cracked  his  heels  together  in  a 
double  rap,  and  swinging  his  arms  around  his  head, 
yelled : 

"Come  on,  my  boys!  I'm  hungry,  I  am!  Meat! 
Meat!  Meat!" 

With  each  "meat,"  his  white  teeth  came  together  with 
a  snap  like  that  of  a  hungry  wolf.  Such  was  the  beastly 
ferocity  in  his  face  and  posture  that  both  Private  Timms 
and  Private  Mulligan,  themselves  men  of  more  than  aver- 
age strength,  paused  and  looked  at  the  corporal  for  fur- 
ther orders. 

"Arrest  that  man,"  said  the  corporal  again,  preserv- 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  131 

ing  at  the  same  time  an  attitude  that  revealed  a  complete 
readiness  for  swift  disappearance.  "Private  McTav- 
ish,"  he  added,  calling  upon  a  tall  Highlander  who  was 
gazing  with  admiring  eyes  upon  the  raging  McCuaig, 
"assist  Private  Timms  and  Private  Mulligan  in  arresting 
that  man." 

"Why  don't  you  come  yourself,  sonny?"  inquired  Mc- 
Cuaig. With  a  swift  sidestep  and  a  swifter  swoop  of 
his  long  arm,  he  reached  for  the  corporal,  who  once  more 
found  safety  in  swift  disappearance. 

At  that  instant,  the  Highlander,  seeing  his  opportunity, 
flung  himself  upon  McCuaig,  and  winding  his  arms 
around  him,  hung  to  him  grimly,  crying  out : 

"Get  hold  of  his  legs !    Queeck !    Will  you  ?" 

When  the  sergeant  major,  attracted  by  the  unwonted 
uproar,  appeared  upon  the  scene,  there  was  a  man  on 
every  one  of  McQuaig's  limbs,  and  another  one  astride 
his  stomach.  "Heavin'  like  sawlogs  shootin'  a  rapid," 
as  Private  Corbin,  a  lumberjack  from  the  Eau  Claire, 
was  later  heard  to  remark. 

"What  is  he  like  now?"  inquired  the  colonel,  after 
listening  to  the  sergeant  major's  report  of  the  Homeric 
combat. 

"He  is  in  a  compartment  in  the  hold,  sir,  and  raging 
like  one  demented.  He  very  nearly  did  for  Major  Bus- 
tead,  smashing  at  him  with  a  scantling  that  he  ripped 
from  the  ship's  timbers,  sir.  He  still  has  the  scantling, 
sir." 

"Let  him  cool  off  all  night,"  said  the  Commanding 
Officer,  after  consultation  with  the  adjutant. 

Barry,  who  with  difficulty  had  restrained  himself  dur- 
ing the  sergeant  major's  report,  slipped  from  the  room, 
found  the  M.O.,  to  whom  he  detailed  the  story  and 
dragged  him  off  to  visit  the  raging  McCuaig. 

They  found  a  corporal  on  guard  outside. 

"I  would  not  open  the  door,  sir.  He  is  really  dan- 
gerous." 

"Oh,  rot!"  replied  the  M.O.    "Open  up  the  door!" 


132     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  the  corporal,  "it  is  not  safe. 
At  present,  he  is  clean  crazy.  He  is  off  his  nut  entirely." 

The  M.O.  stood  listening  at  the  door.  From  within 
came  moaning  sounds  as  from  a  suffering  beast. 

"That  man  is  suffering.  Open  the  door!"  ordered  the 
M.O.  peremptorily. 

The  corporal,  with  great  reluctance,  unlocked  the  pad- 
lock, shot  back  the  bolt,  and  then  stood  away  from  the 
door. 

"It  is  the  medical  officer,  McCuaig,"  said  the  doctor, 
opening  the  door  slightly. 

Bang!  Crash !  came  the  scantling  upon  the  door  jamb, 
shattering  it  to  pieces.  The  whole  guard  flung  themselves 
against  the  door,  shoved  it  shut,  and  shot  the  bolt. 

"I  warned  you,  sir,"  said  the  panting  corporal.  "Bet- 
ter leave  him  until  morning.  He's  a  regular  devil !" 

"He  is  no  more  a  devil  than  you  are,  corporal,"  said 
Barry,  in  a  loud,  clear  voice.  "He  is  one  of  the  best 
men  in  the  battalion.  More  than  that,  he  is  my  friend, 
and  if  he  spends  the  night  there,  I  spend  it  with  him." 

So  saying,  and  before  any  one  could  stop  him,  Barry 
shot  back  the  bolt,  opened  the  door,  and  with  his  torch- 
light flashing  before  him,  stepped  inside. 

"Hello,  McCuaig,"  he  called,  in  a  quiet,  clear  voice, 
"where  are  you?  It's  Dunbar,  you  know." 

He  drew  the  door  shut  after  him.  The  corporal  was 
for  following  him,  but  the  M.O.  interposed. 

"Stop  out!"  he  ordered.  "Stay  where  you  are!  You 
have  done  enough  mischief  already." 

"But,  sir,  he'll  kill  him!" 

"This  is  my  case,"  said  the  M.O.  sharply.  "Fall  back 
all  of  you,  out  of  sight!" 

Together  they  stood  listening  in  awestruck  silence, 
expecting  every  moment  to  hear  sounds  of  conflict,  and 
cries  for  help,  but  all  they  heard  was  the  cool,  even  flow 
of  a  quiet  voice,  and  after  some  minutes  had  passed,  the 
sound  of  moans,  mingled  with  a  terrible  sobbing. 


A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE  133 

The  M.O.,  moving  toward  the  corporal  and  his  guard, 
said  in  a  low  tone : 

"Take  your  men  down  the  passage  and  keep  them 
there  until  I  call  for  you." 

"Sir,"  began  the  corporal. 

"Will  you  obey  my  orders?"  said  the  M.O.  "I'm  in 
command  here !  Go !" 

Without  further  words,  the  corporal  moved  his  men 
away. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  sergeant  major,  going  his 
rounds,  received  a  rude  shock.  In  the  passage  leading  to 
McCuaig's  compartment,  he  met  four  men,  bearing  on  a 
stretcher  toward  the  sick  bay  a  long  silent  form. 

"Who  have  you  got  there,  corporal?"  he  inquired  in 
a  tone  of  kindly  interest. 

"McCuaig,  sir." 

"McCuaig?"  roared  the  sergeant  major.  "And 
who " 

"Medical  officer's  orders." 

"Silence  there,"  said  a  sharp  voice  in  the  rear.  "Carry- 
on,  men." 

And  past  the  astonished  sergeant  major,  the  proces- 
sion filed  with  the  medical  officer  and  the  chaplain  at 
its  tail  end. 

After  the  sergeant  major  had  made  his  report  to  the 
O.C.,  as  was  his  duty,  the  M.O.  was  sent  for.  What 
took  place  at  that  interview  was  never  divulged  to  the 
mess,  but  it  was  known  that  whereas  the  conversation 
began  in  very  loud  tones  by  the  Officer  Commanding,  it 
ended  half  an  hour  later  with  the  M.O.  being  shown  out 
of  the  room  by  the  colonel  himself,  who  was  heard  to 
remark : 

"A  very  fine  bit  of  work.  Tell  him  I  want  to  see  him 
when  he  has  a  few  minutes,  and  thank  you,  doctor,  thank 
you!" 

"Who  does  the  old  man  want  to  see  ?"  inquired  Sally, 
who,  with  Hopeton  and  Booth,  happened  to  be  passing. 

"The  chaplain,"  snapped  the  M.O.,  going  on  his  way. 


134     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"The  chaplain?    By  Jove,  he's  a  queer  one,  eh?" 

The  M.O.  turned  sharply  back,  and  coming  very  close 
to  Sally,  said  in  a  wrathful  voice: 

"A  queer  one?  Yes,  a  queer  one!  But  if  some  of  you 
damned  young  idots  that  sniff  at  him  had  just  half  his 
guts,  you'd  be  twice  the  men  you  are. — Shut  up,  Hope- 
ton  !  Listen  to  me "  and  in  words  of  fiery  rage  that 

ran  close  to  tears,  he  recounted  his  experience  of  the  last 
hour. 

"By  Jove!  Doc,  some  guts,  eh?"  said  Sally  in  a  low 
tone,  as  he  moved  away. 


CHAPTER   IX 

SUBMARINES,   BULLPUPS,  AND  OTHER  THINGS 

ALONG,  weird  blast  from  the  fog  horn,  followed  by 
two  short,  sharp  toots,  recalled  Barry  from  his 
morning  dream. 

"Fog,"  he  grumbled,  and  turned  over  to  re-capture  the 
enchantment  of  the  Athabasca  rapids,  and  his  dancing 
canoe. 

Overhead  there  sounded  the  trampling  of  feet. 

"Submarines,  doc,"  he  shouted  and  leaped  to  the  floor 
broad  awake. 

"What's  the  row?"  murmured  the  M.O.,  who  was  a 
heavy  sleeper. 

For  answer,  Barry  ripped  the  clothes  from  the  doctor's 
bed. 

"Submarines,  doc,"  he  shouted  again,  and  buckling  on 
his  Sam  Brown,  and  seizing  his  lifebelt,  he  stood  ready 
to  go. 

"What!  your  boots  off,  doc?" 

In  the  orders  of  the  day  before  had  been  an  announce- 
ment that  officers  and  men  were  to  sleep  fully  dressed. 

"Oh,  the  devil !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  hunting  through 
his  bedclothes  in  desperation.  "I  can't  sleep  in  my  boots. 
Where's  my  tunic?  Go  on,  old  fellow,  I'll  follow  you." 

Barry  held  his  tunic  for  him. 

"Here  you  are!  Wake  up,  doc!  And  here's  your 
Sam  Brown." 

Barry  dropped  to  lace  the  doctor's  boots,  while  the  lat- 
ter was  buckling  on  the  rest  of  his  equipment. 

"All  right,"  cried  the  doctor,  rushing  from  the  room 
and  leaving  his  lifebelt  behind  him. 

Barry  caught  up  the  lifebelt  and  followed. 


136     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Your  lifebelt,  doc,"  he  said,  as  they  passed  up  the 
companion  way. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  peach  of  a  soldier,"  said  the  doctor,  strug- 
gling into  his  lifebelt,  and  swearing  deeply  the  while. 

"Stop  swearing,  doc !    It's  a  waste  of  energy." 

"Oh,  go  to  hell!" 

"No,  I  prefer  Heaven,  if  I  must  leave  this  ship,  but 
for  the  present,  I  believe  I'm  needed  here,  and  so  are 
you,  doc.  Look  there!" 

The  doctor  glanced  out  upon  the  deck. 

"By  Jove !  You're  right,  old  man,  we  are  needed  and 
badly.  I  say,  old  chap,"  he  said,  pausing  for  a  moment 
to  turn  to  Barry,  "You  are  a  dear  old  thing,  aren't  you?" 

The  deck  was  a  mass  of  soldiers  struggling,  swearing, 
fighting  their  way  to  their  various  stations.  Officers,  half 
dressed  and  half  awake,  were  rushing  hither  and  thither, 
seeking  their  units,  swearing  at  the  men  and  shouting 
meaningless  orders.  Over  all  the  stentorian  voice  of  the 
sergeant  major  was  vainly  trying  to  make  itself  under- 
stood.- 

In  the  confusion  the  cry  was  raised :  "We're  torpedoed ! 
We're  going  down!" 

There  was  a  great  rush  for  the  nearest  boats.  Men 
flung  discipline  to  the  winds  and  began  fighting  for  a 
chance  of  their  lives.  It  was  a  terrific  and  humiliating 
scene. 

Suddenly,  over  the  tumult,  was  heard  a  loud,  ringing 
laugh. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Duff !    Not  that  way !    Not  that  way !" 

Again  came  the  ringing  laugh. 

Immediately  a  silence  fell  upon  the  struggling  crowd, 
and  for  a  moment  they  stood  looking  inquiringly  at  each 
other.  That  moment  of  silence  was  seized  by  the  ser- 
geant major.  Like  a  trumpet  his  sonorous  voice  rang 
out  steady  and  clear. 

"Fall  in,  men!   Boat  quarters!    Silence  there!" 

He  followed  this  with  sharp,  intelligible  commands  to 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     137 

his  N.C.O.'s.  Like  magic,  'order  fell  upon  the  turbulent, 
struggling  crowd. 

"Stand  steady,  you  there !"  roared  the  sergeant  major, 
who  having  got  control  of  his  men,  began  to  indulge  him- 
self in  a  few  telling  and  descriptive  adjectives. 

In  less  than  two  minutes,  the  men  were  standing  steady 
as  a  rock  and  the  panic  was  passed. 

"Who  was  it  that  laughed  up  there  in  that  stampede  ?" 
inquired  the  O.C.,  when  the  officers  were  gathered  about 
him  in  the  orderly  room. 

"I  think  it  was  the  Sky  Pilot,  sir — the  chaplain,  sir," 
said  Lieutenant  Stewart  Duff. 

"Was  it  you  that  laughed,  Captain  Dunbar?"  asked 
the  colonel,  turning  upon  Barry. 

"Perhaps  I  did,  sir.     I'm  sorry  if " 

"Sorry!"  exclaimed  the  colonel.  "Dammit,  sir,  you 
saved  the  situation  for  us  all.  Who  told  you  it  was  a 
false  alarm?" 

"No  one,  sir.  I  didn't  know  it  was  a  false  alarm.  I 
was  looking  at  Lieutenant  Duff "  He  checked  him- 
self promptly.  "I  mean,  sir — well,  it  seemed  a  good 
place  to  laugh,  so  I  just  let  it  come." 

The  colonel's  eyes  rested  with  curious  inquiry  upon  the 
serene  face  of  the  chaplain,  with  its  glowing  eyes  and 
candid  expression.  "A  good  place  for  a  laugh?  It  was 
a  damned  good  place  for  a  laugh,  and  gentlemen,  I  thank 
God  I  have  one  officer  who  finds  in  the  face  of  sudden 
danger  a  good  place  for  a  laugh.  And  now  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

The  O.C.'s  remarks  did  not  improve  the  officers'  opin- 
ion of  themselves,  and  they  slunk  out  of  the  room — no 
other  word  properly  describes  the  cowed  and  shamed  ap- 
pearance of  that  company  of  men — they  slunk  out  of 
the  room.  They  had  failed  to  play  the  part  of  British 
officers  in  the  face  of  sudden  peril. 

In  his  speech  to  the  men,  the  C.O.  made  only  a  single 
reference  to  the  incident,  but  that  reference  bit  deep. 

"Men,   I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  and  disappointed- 


138     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

You  acted,  not  like  soldiers,  but  like  a  herd  of  steers. 
The  difference  between  a  herd  of  steers  and  a  battalion 
of  soldiers,  in  the  face  of  sudden  danger,  is  only  this : — 
the  steers  break  blindly  for  God  knows  where,  and  end 
piled  up  over  a  cut  bank;  soldiers  stand  steady  listening 
for  the  word  of  command." 

If  the  O.C.  handled  the  men  with  a  light  hand,  the 
sergeant  major  did  not.  His  tongue  rasped  them  to  the 
raw.  No  one  knows  a  soldier  as  does  his  N.C.O.,  and  no 
N.C.O.  is  qualified  to  set  forth  the  soldier's  characteris- 
tics with  the  intimate  knowledge  and  adequate  fluency  of 
the  sergeant  major.  One  by  one  he  peeled  from  their 
shivering  souls  the  various  layers  of  their  moral  cuticle, 
until  they  stood,  in  their  own  and  in  each  other's  eyes, 
objects  of  commiseration. 

"There's  just  one  thing  more  I  wad  like  ta  say  to  ye." 
The  sergeant  major's  tendency  to  Doric  was  more  notice- 
able in  his  moments  of  deeper  feeling,  "but  it's  something 
for  you  lads  to  give  heed  ta.  When  ye  were  scrammlin' 
up  yonder,  like  a  lot  o'  mavericks  at  a  brandin',  and 
yowlin'  like  a  bunch  o'  coyotes,  there  was  one  man  in 
the  regiment  who  could  laugh.  There's  lots  o'  animals 
that  the  Almighty  made  can  yowl,  but  there's  only  one 
can  laugh,  and  that's  a  mon.  For  God's  sake,  men,  when 
ye' re  in  a  tight  place,  try  a  laugh." 

For  some  weeks  after  this  event  the  chaplain  was 
known  throughout  the  battalion  as  "the  man  that  can 
laugh,"  and  certain  it  is  that  from  that  day  there  existed 
between  the  M.O.  and  the  chaplain  a  new  bond  of 
friendship. 

As  the  ship  advanced  deeper  into  the  submarine  zone, 
the  sole  topic  of  thought  and  of  conversation  came  to  be 
the  convoy.  Where  was  that  convoy  anyway?  While 
the  daylight  lasted,  a  thousand  pairs  of  eyes  swept  the 
horizon,  and  the  intervening  spaces  of  tossing,  blue-grey 
water,  for  the  sight  of  a  sinister  periscope,  or  for  the 
smudge  of  a  friendly  cruiser,  and  when  night  fell,  a 
thousand  pairs  of  ears  listened  with  strained  intentness 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     139 

for  the  impact  of  the  deadly  torpedo  or  for  the  signal  of 
the  protecting  convoy. 

While  still  a  day  and  a  night  out  from  land,  Barry 
awoke  in  the  dim  light  of  a  misty  morning,  and  proceeded 
to  the  deck  for  his  constitutional.  There  he  fell  in  with 
Captain  Neil  Fraser  and  Captain  Hopeton  pacing  up  and 
down. 

"Come  along,  Pilot!"  said  Captain  Neil,  heartily,  be- 
tween whom  and  the  chaplain  during  the  last  few  days 
a  cordial  friendship  had  sprung  up.  "We're  looking  for 
submarines.  This  is  the  place  and  the  time  for  Fritz, 
if  he  is  going  to  get  us  at  all." 

Arm  in  arm  they  made  the  circle  of  the  deck.  The 
mist,  lying  like  a  bank  upon  the  sea,  shifted  the  horizon 
to  within  a  thousand  yards  of  the  ship. 

"I  wish  I  knew  just  what  lies  behind  that  bank  there," 
said  Captain  Hopeton,  pointing  over  the  bow. 

For  some  moments  they  stood,  peering  idly  into  the 
mist. 

"By  Jove,  there  is  something  there,"  said  Barry,  who 
had  a  hawk's  eye. 

"You've  got  'em  too,  eh,"  laughed  Hopeton.  "I've 
had  'em  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  I've  been  'seein' 
things'  all  night." 

"But  there  is,"  insisted  Barry,  pointing  over  the  port 
bow. 

"What  is  it  like?"  asked  Captain  Neil,  while  Hopeton 
ran  for  his  glass. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it's  like — exactly  like  the  eye  of  an 
oyster  in  its  pulp.  And,  by  Jove,  there's  another !"  added 
Barry  excitedly. 

"I  can't  see  anything,"  said  Captain  Neil. 

"But  I  can,"  insisted  Barry.    "Look  there,  Hopeton!" 

Hopeton  fixed  his  glass  upon  the  mist,  where  Barry 
pointed.  ^ 

"You're  right!  There  is  something,  and  there  are 
two  of  them." 


140     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Give  the  Pilot  the  glass,  Hopeton,"  said  Neil.  "He's 
got  a  good  eye." 

"There  are  two  ships,  boys,  as  I'm  a  sinner,  but  what 
they  are,  I  don't  know,"  cried  Barry  in  a  voice  tense  with 
excitement.  "Here,  Neil,  take  the  glass.  You  know 
about  ships." 

Long  and  earnestly,  Captain  Neil  held  the  glass  in  the 
direction  indicated. 

"Boys,  by  all  that's  holy,  they're  destroyers,"  he  said 
at  length  in  a  low  voice. 

Even  as  they  gazed,  the  two  black  dots  rapidly  took 
shape,  growing  out  of  the  mist  into  two  sea  monsters, 
all  head  and  shoulders,  boring  through  the  seas,  each 
flinging  high  a  huge  comb  of  white  spray,  and  with  an 
indescribable  suggestion  of  arrogant,  resistless  power, 
bearing  down  upon  the  ship  at  furious  speed. 

"Destroyers!"  shouted  Captain  Neil,  in  a  voice  that 
rang  through  the  ship.  "By  gad,  destroyers!" 

There  was  no  question  of  friend  or  foe;  only  Great 
Britain's  navy  rode  over  those  seas  immune. 

Upon  every  hand  the  word  was  caught  up  and  passed 
along.  In  a  marvellously  short  space  of  time,  the  rails, 
the  boats,  the  rigging,  all  the  points  of  vantage  were 
thronged  with  men,  roaring,  waving,  cheering,  like  mad. 

With  undiminished  speed,  each  enveloped  in  its  cloud 
of  spray,  the  destroyers  came,  one  on  each  side,  rushed 
foaming  past,  swept  in  a  circle  around  the  ship  and  took 
their  stations  alongside,  riding  quietly  at  half  speed 
like  bulldogs  tugging  at  a  leash. 

"Great  heavens,  what  a  sight!"  At  the  croak  in  Hope- 
ton's  voice,  the  others  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"You've  got  it  too,  eh !"  said  Captain  Neil,  clearing  his 
own  throat. 

"I've  got  something,  God  knows !''"  answered  Hopeton, 
wiping  his  eyes. 

"I,  too,"  said  Barry,  swallowing  the  proverbial  lump. 
"Those  little— little " 

"Bulldogs,"  suggested  Hopeton. 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     141 

"Bulldog  pups,"  said  Captain  Neil. 

"That's  it,"  said  Barry.  "That's  what  they  are,  little 
bulldog  pups,  got  me  by  the  throat  all  right." 

"Me,  too,  by  gad !"  said  Captain  Neil.  "I  should  have 
howled  out  loud  in  another  minute." 

"Listen  to  the  boys!"  cried  Barry. 

From  end  to  end  of  the  ship  rose  one  continuous  roar, 
"Good  old  Navy !  Good  old  John  Bull !"  while  Hopeton, 
openly  abandoning  the  traditional  reserve  and  self-con- 
trol supposed  to  be  a  characteristic  of  the  English  public 
school  boy,  climbed  upon  the  rail  and,  hanging  by  a 
stanchion  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  frantically 
waving  his  cap  over  his  head,  continued  to  shout : 

"England!     England!    England  forever!" 

Then  above  the  cheering  cries  was  heard  the  battalion 
band,  and  from  a  thousand  throats  in  solemn  chant  there 
rose  the  Empire's  national  anthem,  "God  Save  the  King." 

That  night  they  steamed  into  old  Plymouth  town,  and 
the  following  morning  were  anchored  safe  at  Devonport 
dock.  Strict  orders  held  the  officers  and  men  on  board 
ship  until  arrangements  for  debarkation  should  be  com- 
pleted, but  to  Barry  and  the  doctor,  the  Commanding  Of- 
ficer gave  shore  leave  for  an  hour. 

"And  I  would  suggest,"  he  said,  "that  you  go  and  have 
a  talk  with  that  old  boy  walking  up  and  down  the  dock 
there.  Yarn  to  him  about  Canada,  he's  wild  to  know 
about  it." 

The  old  naval  officer  was  indeed  "wild  to  know  about 
Canada,"  so  that  the  greater  part  of  their  shore  leave 
was  spent  in  answering  his  questions,  and  eager  though 
he  was  to  explore  the  old  historic  town,  before  Barry 
knew  it,  he  was  in  the  full  tide  of  a  glowing  description 
of  his  own  Province  of  Alberta,  extolling  its  great 
ranches,  its  sweeping  valleys,  its  immense  resources. 

"And  to  think  you  are  all  British  out  there,"  exclaimed 
the  old  salt. 

"We're  all  British,  of  course,"  replied  Barry,  "but  not 
all  from  Britain." 


142     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  officer,  "but  that  only  makes 
it  more  wonderful." 

"Wonderful !    Why,  why  should  it  be  wonderful  ?" 

"Yes,  wonderful.  Oh,  you  Canadians,"  cried  the  old 
salt,  impulsively  stretching  out  his  hand  to  Barry.  "You 
Canadians !" 

Surprised,  Barry  glanced  at  his  face.  Those  hard  blue 
eyes  were  brimming  with  tears;  the  leatherlike  skin  was 
working  curiously  about  the  mouth. 

"Why,  sir,  I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  mean," 
said  Barry. 

"No,  and  you  never  will.  Think  of  it,  rushing  three 
thousand  miles " 

"Five  thousand  for  some  of  us,"  interrupted  Barry. 

"Fancy  that!  Rushing  five  thousand  miles  in  this 
way,  to  help  old  mother  England,  and  all  of  your  own 
free  will.  We  didn't  ask  it  of  you.  Though,  by  heaven, 
we're  grateful  for  it.  I  find  it  difficult,  sir,  to  speak 
quietly  of  this." 

Not  until  that  moment  had  Barry  caught  the  British 
point  of  view.  To  him,  as  to  all  Canadians,  it  had  only 
been  a  perfectly  reasonable  and  natural  thing  that  when 
the  Empire  was  threatened,  they  should  spring  into  the 
fight.  They  saw  nothing  heroic  in  that.  They  were  do- 
ing their  simple  duty. 

"But  think  of  the  wonder  of  it,"  said  the  naval  officer 
again,  "that  Canada  should  feel  in  that  way  its  response 
to  the  call  of  the  blood." 

The  old  man's  lips  were  still  quivering. 

"That  is  true,  sir,"  said  the  M.O.,  joining  in  the  talk, 
"but  there  is  something  more.  Frankly,  my  opinion  is 
that  the  biggest  thing,  sir,  with  some  of  us  in  Canada,  is 
not  that  the  motherland  was  in  need  of  help,  though,  of 
course,  we  all  feel  that,  but  that  the  freedom  of  the 
world  is  threatened,  and  that  Canada,  as  one  of  the  free 
nations  of  the  world,  must  do  her  part  in  its  defence." 

"A  fine  spirit,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 


143 

"This  fight,"  continued  the  M.O.,  "is  ours,  you  see, 
as  well  as  yours,  and  we  hate  a  bully." 

The  old  salt  swore  a  great  oath,  and  said : 

"You  are  pups  of  the  old  breed,  and  you  run  true  to 
type.  I'm  glad  to  know  you,  gentlemen,"  he  continued, 
shaking  them  warmly  by  the  hand. 

After  they  had  gone  a  few  steps  he  called  Barry  back 
to  him. 

"That's  my  card,  sir.  I  should  like  you  to  come  to  see 
me  in  London  sometime  when  you  are  on  leave." 

Barry  glanced  at  the  card  and  read,  "Commander 
Howard  Vincent,  R.N.R." 

"It  was  very  decent  of  the  old  boy,"  he  said  to  the  Com- 
manding Officer  afterwards,  when  recounting  the  inter- 
view. "I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  use  the  card,  but  I  do 
think  he  really  meant  it." 

"Meant  it,"  exclaimed  the  Commanding  Officer.  "Why, 
Dunbar,  I'm  an  old  country  man,  and  I  know.  Make 
no  mistake.  These  people,  and  especially  these  naval 
people,  do  not  throw  their  cards  loosely  about.  You 
will  undoubtedly  hear  from  him." 

"It's  not  likely,"  replied  Barry,  "but  the  old  gentleman 
is  great  stuff,  all  right." 

During  the  long,  sunny  spring  day,  their  dinky  little 
train  whisked  them  briskly  through  the  sweet  and  rest- 
ful beauty  of  the  English  southern  counties.  To  these 
men,  however,  from  the  wide  sunbaked,  windswept  plains 
of  western  Canada,  the  English  landscape  suggested  a 
dainty  picture,  done  in  soft  greys  and  greens,  with  here 
and  there  a  vivid  splash  of  colour,  where  the  rich  red 
soil  broke  through  the  green.  But  its  tiny  fields  set  off 
with  hedges,  and  lines  of  trees,  its  little,  clean-swept  vil- 
lages, with  their  picturesque  church  spires,  its  parks  with 
deer  that  actually  stood  still  to  look  at  you,  its  splendid 
manor  houses,  and,  at  rare  intervals,  its  turreted  castles, 
gave  these  men,  fresh  from  the  raw,  unmeasured  and  un- 
made west,  a  sense  of  unreality.  To  them  it  seemed  a 
toy  landscape  for  children  to  play  with,  but,  as  they  passed 


144     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

through  the  big  towns  and  cities  with  their  tall,  clustering 
chimneys,  their  crowding  populations,  with  unmistakable 
evidences  of  great  wealth,  their  shipping,  where  the  har- 
bours bit  into  the  red  coast  line,  there  began  to  waken  in 
them  the  thought  that  this  tiny  England,  so  beautifully 
finished,  and  so  neatly  adorned,  was  something  mightier 
than  they  had  ever  known. 

In  these  tiny  fields,  in  these  clean  swept  villages,  in 
these  manor  houses,  in  these  castles,  in  factory  and  in 
shipyard,  were  struck  deep  the  roots  of  an  England  whose 
greatness  they  had  never  yet  guessed. 

The  next  afternoon  brought  them  to  the  great  military 
camp  at  Shorncliffe,  in  a  misty  rain,  hungry,  for  their 
rations  had  been  exhausted  early  in  the  day,  weary  from 
ship  and  train  travel,  and  eager  to  get  their  feet  once 
again  on  mother  earth. 

At  the  little  station  they  were  kept  waiting  in  a  pouring 
rain  for  something  to  happen,  they  knew  not  what.  The 
R.T.O.,  a  young  Imperial  officer,  blase  with  his  ten 
months  of  war  in  England,  had  some  occult  reason  for 
delaying  their  departure.  So,  while  the  night  grew 
every  moment  wetter  and  darker,  the  men  sat  on  their  kit- 
bags  or  found  such  shelter  as  they  could  in  the  tiny  sta- 
tion, or  in  the  lee  of  the  "goods  trains"  blocking  the  rail- 
road tracks,  growing  more  indignant  and  more  disgusted 
with  the  British  high  command,  the  war  in  general,  and 
registering  with  increasing  intensity  vows  of  vengeance 
against  the  Kaiser,  who,  in  the  last  analysis,  they  consid- 
ered responsible  for  their  misery. 

At  length  the  "brass  hat"  for  whom  they  had  been 
waiting  appeared  upon  the  scene,  not  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree apologetic,  but  very  businesslike,  and  with  a  highly 
emphasised  military  manner.  After  a  little  conversation 
between  the  brass  hat  and  their  Commanding  Officer,  the 
latter  gave  the  command  and  off  they  set  in  the  darkness 
for  their  first  route  march  on  English  soil. 

Through  muddy  roads  and  lanes,  over  fields,  slushy 
and  sodden,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  they  plodded  steadily 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     145 

along.  At  the  rear  of  the  column  marched  Barry  with 
the  M.O. 

Long  before  they  reached  their  destination,  their  con- 
versation had  given  out,  the  M.O.  sucking  sullenly  at 
his  pipe,  the  bowl  upside  down.  The  rear  end  of  the 
column  was  very  frayed  and  straggling.  Why  it  is  that 
a  perfectly  fit  company  will  invariably  fray  out  if  placed 
at  the  rear  of  a  marching  column,  no  military  expert  has 
quite  succeeded  in  satisfactorily  explaining. 

As  he  tramped  along  in  the  dark  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  the  M.O.  stumbled  over  a  soldier  sitting  upon  the 
soggy  bank. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  he  inquired  shortly. 

"Corporal  Thorn,  sir." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"I'm  all  in,  sir.    I've  been  sick  all  day,  sir." 

"Why  didn't  you  report  sick,  then?  Can't  you  get 
on?"  f, 

"I  don't  think  so,  sir.    Not  for  a  while,  at  least." 

"Have  you  any  pain,  any  nausea  ?" 

"No,  sir,  I'm  just  all  in." 

"Do  you  know  our  route  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I've  got  the  turns  down." 

"Well,  come  along  then  when  you  can.  I'll  send  back 
a  waggon  later,  but  don't  wait  for  that." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Corporal  Thorn. 

"Come  on,  Dunbar!  We'll  send  a  waggon  back  for 
these  stragglers.  There  will  be  a  good  many  of  them 
before  long." 

"You  go  on,  doc.  I'll  come  later,"  said  Barry.  "I'll 
catch  up  to  you." 

But  the  M.O.,  at  the  various  halts,  waited  in  vain  for 
the  chaplain  to  appear. 

On  arriving  at  the  camp,  after  a  long  struggle,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  sending  back  an  Army  Service  waggon  to 
bring  in  the  stragglers,  but  just  as  the  waggon  was  about 
to  leave,  he  heard  coming  up  the  road,  a  party  stepping 
out  briskly  to  the  music  of  their  own  whistling.  In  the 


146     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

rear  of  the  party  marched  the  chaplain,  laden  down  with 
one  man's  rifle  and  another  man's  kit-bag. 

"They're  all  here,  sir,"  said  Corporal  Thorn  to  the 
M.O.,  with  a  distinct  note  of  triumph  in  his  voice.  "All 
here,  sir,"  he  repeated,  as  he  observed  the  sergeant  major 
standing  at  the  doctor's  side. 

"Well  done,  corporal,"  said  the  sergeant  major. 
"You  brought  'em  all  in?  That  means  that  no  man  has 
fallen  out  on  our  first  march  in  this  country." 

The  corporal  made  no  reply,  but  later  on,  he  explained 
the  matter  to  the  sergeant  major. 

"It's  that  Sky  Pilot  of  ours,  sir,"  he  said.  "Blowed  if 
he'd  let  us  fall  out." 

"Kept  you  marching,  eh  ?" 

"No,  it's  his  chocolate  and  his  jaw,  but  more  his  jaw 
than  his  chocolate.  He's  got  lots  of  both.  I  was  all  in. 
I'd  been  sick  all  day  in  the  train.  Couldn't  eat  a  bite. 
Well,  the  first  thing,  he  gives  me  a  cake  of  his  chocolate. 
Then  he  sets  himself  down  in  the  mud  beside  me,  and  me 
wishin'  all  the  time  he'd  go  on  and  leave  me  for  the 
waggon  to  pick  up.  Then  he  gives  me  a  cigarette,  and 
then  he  begins  to  talk." 

"Talk,  what  about?" 

"Damned  if  I  know,  but  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was 
tellin'  him  about  the  broncho  bustin', — that's  my  job, 
you  know — and  how  I  won  out  from  Nigger  Jake  in  the 
Calgary  Stampede,  until  I  was  that  stuck  on  myself  that 
I  said:  'Well,  sir,  we'd  better  get  a  move  on/  and  up 
he  gets  with  my  kit-bag  on  his  back.  By  and  by,  we 
picks  up  another  lame  duck  and  then  another,  f  eedin'  'em 
with  chocolate  and  slingin'  his  jaw,  and  when  we  was  at 
the  limit,  he  halts  us  outside  one  of  them  stone  shacks  and 
knocks  at  the  door.  'No  soldiers  here,'  snaps  the  red- 
headed angel,  shuttin'  the  door  right  in  his  face.  Then 
he  opens  the  door  and  steps  right  in  where  she  could  see 
him,  and  starts  to  talk  to  her,  and  us  listening  out  in  the 
rain.  Say!  In  fifteen  minutes  we  was  all  standin'  up  to 
a  feed  of  coffee  and  buns,  and  then  he  gets  Harry  Hobbs 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     147 

whistlin'  and  singin',  and  derned  if  we  couldn't  have 
marched  to  Berlin.  Say !  He's  a  good  one,  ain't  no  quit- 
ter, and  he  won't  let  nobody  else  be  a  quitter." 

And  thus  it  came  that  with  Corporal  Thorn  and  his 
derelicts  the  chaplain  marched  into  a  new  place  in  the 
esteem  of  the  men  of  his  battalion,  and  of  its  sergeant 
major. 

But  of  this,  of  course,  Barry  had  no  knowledge  He 
knew  that  he  had  made  some  little  progress  into  the  con- 
fidence of  both  officers  and  men  in  his  battalion.  He  had 
made,  too,  some  firm  friendships  which  had  relieved,  to 
a  certain  extent,  the  sense  of  isolation  and  loneliness  that 
had  made  his  first  months  with  the  battalion  so  appalling. 
But  there  still  remained  the  sense  of  failure  inasfar  as  his 
specific  duty  as  chaplain  was  concerned. 

The  experiences  of  the  first  weeks  in  England  only 
served  to  deepen  in  him  the  conviction  that  his  influence 
on  the  men  against  the  evils  which  were  their  especial 
snare  was  as  the  wind  against  the  incoming  tide,  beating 
in  from  the  North  Sea.  He  could  make  a  ripple,  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  fussy  noise,  but  the  tide  of  temptation 
rolled  steadily  onward,  unchecked  in  its  flow. 

The  old  temptations  to  profanity,  drink  and  lust,  that 
had  haunted  the  soldiers'  steps  at  home,  were  found  to  be 
lying  in  wait  for  them  here  and  in  aggravated  form. 
True,  in  the  mess  and  in  his  presence  among  the  men 
there  was  less  profanity  than  there  had  been  at  the  first, 
but  it  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  rage  to  feel  that  this 
change  was  due  to  no  sense  of  the  evil  of  the  habit,  but 
solely  to  an  unwillingness  to  give  offence  to  one  whom 
many  of  them  were  coming  to  regard  with  respect  and 
some  even  with  affection. 

"I  hate  that,"  he  said  to  the  M.O.,  to  whom  he  would 
occasionally  unburden  his  soul.  "You'd  think  I  was  a 
kind  of  policeman  over  their  morals." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that,"  said  the  M.O.,  to 
whom  the  habit  of  profanity  was  a  very  venial  sin.  "You 
ought  to  be  mighty  glad  that  your  presence  does  act  as 


148     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

a  kind  of  moral  prophylactic.  And  it  does,  I  assure  you. 
I  confess  that  since  I  have  come  to  be  associated  with 
you,  I  am  conscious  of  a  very  real,  and  at  times,  dis- 
tressing limitation  of  my  vocabulary.  I  may  not  be  more 
virtuous,  but  certainly  I  am  more  respectable." 

This  sentiment,  however,  brought  little  comfort  to  the 
chaplain. 

"I  am  not  a  policeman,"  he  protested,  "and  I  am  not 
going  to  play  policeman  to  these  men.  I  notice  them  shut 
up  when  I  come  around,  but  I  know  quite  well  that  they 
turn  themselves  loose  when  I  pass  on,  and  that  they  feel 
much  more  comfortable.  I  am  not  and  will  not  be  their 
policeman." 

"What  then  would  you  be?"  inquired  the  M.O. 

Barry  por  iered  this  question  for  some  time. 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  he  said,  at  length,  "I  confess,  I 
don't  quite  know.  I  wish  I  did,  doc,  on  my  soul.  One 
thing  I  do  know,  the  men  are  no  better  here  in  their 
morals  than  they  were  at  home." 

"Better?  They  are  worse,  by  Jove!"  exclaimed  the 
M.O.  "Look  at  the  daily  crime-sheet!  Look  at  that 
daily  orderly  room  parade.  It's  something  fierce,  and 
it's  getting  worse." 

"The  wet  canteen?"  inquired  Barry,  who  had  lost 
prestige  with  some  in  the  battalion  by  reason  of  the 
strenuous  fight  he  had  made  against  its  introduction  since 
coming  to  England.  Not  that  the  men  cared  so  much 
for  their  liquor,  but  they  resented  the  idea  that  they  were 
denied  privileges  enjoyed  by  other  battalions. 

"The  wet  canteen?"  echoed  the  doctor.  "No,  you 
know  I  opposed,  as  you  did,  the  introduction  of  the  wet 
canteen,  although  not  upon  the  same  grounds.  I  regard 
it  as  a  perfect  nuisance  in  camp.  It  is  the  centre  of  every 
disorder,  it  is  subversive  of  discipline;  it  materially  in- 
creases my  sick  parade.  But  it  is  not  the  wet  canteen 
that  is  chiefly  responsible  for  the  growing  crime-sheet  and 
orderly  room  parade.  It  is  those  damned — I  don't  apol- 
ogise  " 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     149 

"Please  don't.  Say  it  again!"  exclaimed  Barry  fer- 
vently. 

"Those  damned  pubs,"  continued  the  M.O.,  "stuck  at 
every  crossroads  in  this  country.  They're  the  cause  of 
ninety  per  cent,  of  the  drunkenness  in  our  army,  and 
more  than  that,  I  want  to  give  you  another  bit  of  in- 
formation that  came  out  at  our  M.O.  conference  this 
week,  namely  that  these  pubs  account  for  ninety  per 
cent,  of  our  tent  hospital  cases." 

"Ninety  per  cent.,  doctor?    That's  surely  high." 

"I  would  have  said  so,  but  I  am  giving  you  the  unani- 
mous verdict  of  the  twenty-six  medical  officers  at  the 
conference.  Cut  out  the  damned  beer — and  you  know  I 
take  my  share  of  it — cut  out  the  beer  and  ninety  per  cent, 
of  the  venereal  disease  goes.  With  me  it  is  not  a  question 
of  morality  but  of  efficiency."  Here  the  M.O.  sprang 
from  his  chair  and  began  to  pace  the  hut.  "This  is  the 
one  thing  in  this  army  business  that  makes  me  wild.  We 
come  over  here  to  fight — these  boys  are  willing  to  fight — 
and  by  gad  they  will  fight !  They  go  out  for  a  walk,  they 
have  a  few  beers  together,  their  inhibitory  powers  are 
paralysed,  opportunity  comes  their  way,  and  they  wake 
up  a  little  later  diseased.  God  in  heaven!  I  love  this 
dear  old  England,  and  I  would  die  for  her  if  need  be, 
but  may  God  Almighty  damn  her  public  houses,  and  all 
the  infernal  and  vicious  customs  which  they  nourish." 

"Thank  you,  doctor,  go  right  on,"  said  Barry.  "I  was 
at  the  tent  hospital  this  week  for  the  first  time.  Ever 
since,  I  have  been  wanting  to  say  what  you  have  said 
just  now.  But  what  did  your  M.O.  conference  do  about 
it?" 

"What  could  we  do?  The  Home  Office  blocks  the  way. 
Well,  I've  got  that  off  my  stomach,  and  I  feel  better," 
added  the  M.O.,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

"But,  doc,  I  want  to  say  this,"  said  Barry.  "I  don't 
believe  that  the  percentage  of  men  who  go  in  for  this 
sort  of  thing  is  large.  I've  been  making  inquiries  from 


150     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

our  chaplains  and  they  all  agree  thatjvve  have  a  mighty 
fine  and  clean  body  of  men  in  our  Canadian  army." 

"Right  you  are!  Of  course,  it  is  only  a  small  per- 
centage, a  very  small  percentage — a  much  smaller  per- 
centage than  in  our  civilian  population  at  home.  But 
small  as  it  is,  it  is  just  that  much  too  many.  Hell  and 
blazes!  These  men  are  soldiers.  They  have  left  their 
homes,  and  their  folks,  to  fight.  Their  people — their 
people  are  the  best  in  our  land.  There's  that  young  Pent- 
land.  A  finer  young  chap  never  threw  a  leg  over  a 
broncho.  He's  in  that  tent  hospital  to-night.  I  know 
his  mother.  Three  sons  she  has  given.  Oh,  damn  it 
all,"  the  doctor's  voice  broke  at  this  point.  "I  can't  speak 
quietly.  Their  mothers  have  given  them  up,  to  death,  if 
need  be,  but  not  to  this  rotten,  damnable  disease.  Look 
here,  Pilot !"  The  doctor  pointed  a  shaking  and  accusing 
finger  at  Barry.  "You  have  often  spoken  against  this 
thing,  but  next  time  you  break  loose,  give  them  merry 
hell  over  it.  You  can't  make  it  too  hot." 

Long  Barry  sat  silent  overborne  by  the  fury  of  the 
doctor's  passionate  indictment. 

"Cheer  up,  old  chap !"  said  the  doctor,  when  his  wrath 
had  somewhat  subsided.  "We'll  lick  the  Kaiser  and  beat 
the  devil  yet." 

"But,  doctor,  what  can  I  do  ?"  implored  Barry.  "That's 
part  of  my  job,  surely.  Part  of  the  job  of  the  chaplain 
service,  I  mean.  Oh,  that  is  the  ghastly  tragedy  of  this 
work  of  mine.  Somehow. I  can't  get  at  it.  These  evils 
exist.  I  can  speak  against  them  and  make  enemies,  but 
the  things  go  on  just  as  before." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  Pilot,  not  quite  as  before.  Be- 
hold how  you  have  already  checked  my  profanity.  Even 
the  old  man  has  pretty  much  cut  it  out  at  mess.  You  don't 
know  where  they  would  have  been  but  for  you.  Cheer 
up!  Our  wings  may  not  be  visible  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  are  no  signs  of  horns  and  hoofs." 

"Doctor,  one  thing  I'll  do,"  cried  Barry,  with  a  sudden 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     151 

inspiration.  "We've  a  meeting  of  the  chaplains'  corps 
to-morrow.  I'll  give  them  your  speech." 

"Expurgated  edition,  I  hope,"  said  the  M.O. 

"No,  I'll  put  in  every  damn  I  can  remember,  and,  if 
need  be,  a  few  more." 

"Lord,  I'd  like  to  be  there,  old  boy !"  said  the  doctor, 
fervently. 

Barry  was  as  good  as  his  word.  At  the  meeting  of 
the  chaplains'  corps,  the  time  was  mainly  taken  up  in 
routine  business,  dealing  with  arrangements  for  religious 
services  at  the  various  camps  within  the  area. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  however,  one  of  the  chap- 
lains rose  and  announced  that  he  had  a  matter  to  bring  to 
the  attention  of  the  corps — a  matter  of  the  highest  im- 
portance, which  demanded  their  immediate  and  serious 
attention,  and  which  they  dared  not  any  longer  ignore. 
It  was  the  matter  of  venereal  disease  in  our  Canadian 
army. 

His  statistics  and  illustrative  incidents  gripped  hard  the 
hearts  of  the  men  present.  He  closed  with  a  demand  that 
steps  be  taken  that  day  to  deal  with  the  situation.  The 
Canadian  people  had  entrusted  them  with  the  care  of 
their  boys'  souls.  "Their  souls,"  he  cried.  "I  say  our 
first  duty  is  to  their  bodies.  I  am  not  saying  the  per- 
centage is  large.  It  is  not  as  large  as  in  the  civilian 
population  at  home.  But  why  any?  We  must  care  for 
these  men's  bodies.  They  fight  with  their  bodies." 

His  last  sentence  struck  Barry  to  the  heart.  It  re- 
called his  own  sermon,  spoken  in  Edmonton  to  his  fath- 
er's battalion.  Immediately  he  was  on  his  feet,  and 
without  preface  or  apology,  reproduced  as  far  as  he  was 
able  the  M.O.'s  speech  of  the  previous  night,  and  that 
without  expurgation. 

There  was  but  little  discussion.  There  was  but  one 
opinion.  It  was  resolved  to  call  a  joint  meeting  of  the 
chaplains  and  medical  officers  to  decide  upon  a  course  of 
action. 

As  Barry  was  leaving  the  meeting,  the  senior  chaplain,. 


152     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

an  old  Anglican  clergyman,  with  a  saintly  face  and  a  smile 
that  set  one's  tenderest  emotions  astir,  came  to  him,  and 
putting  his  hand  affectionately  upon  his  shoulder,  said: 

"And  how  is  your  work  going,  my  dear  fellow?" 

It  was  to  Barry  as  if  his  father's  hand  were  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  before  he  was  aware  he  was  pouring  out  the 
miserable  story  of  his  own  sad  failure  as  a  chaplain. 

"Poor  boy !  Poor  boy !"  the  old  gentleman  kept  saying. 
"I  know  how  you  ,feel.  Just  so,  just  so !" 

When  Barry  had  finished  relieving  his  heart  of  the  bur- 
den that  had  so  long  lain  upon  it,  the  old  gentleman  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  said : 

"My  dear  fellow,  remember  they  are  far  from  home. 
These  boys  need  their  mothers.  They  sorely  need  their 
mothers !  And,  my  boy,  they  need  God.  And  they  need 
you.  Good-bye!" 

Barry  came  away  with  a  warm  feeling  in  his  heart, 
and  in  it  a  new  purpose  and  resolve.  No  longer  would 
he  be  a  policeman  to  his  men.  He  would  try  to  forget 
their  faults,  and  to  remember  only  how  sorely  they  need- 
ed their  mothers  and  their  God,  and  that  they  needed 
him,  too. 

He  found  the  camp  thrilling  with  great  news,  glorious 
news.  The  day  so  long  awaited  had  come.  The  bat- 
talion was  under  orders  for  France.  At  that  very 
moment  there  was  an  officers'  meeting  in  the  orderly 
room. 

As  Barry  entered  the  room,  the  O.C.  was  closing  his 
speech. 

Barry  was  immediately  conscious  of  a  new  tone,  a  new 
spirit,  in  the  colonel's  words.  He  spoke  with  a  new 
sense  of  responsibility,  and  what  more  than  anything 
else  arrested  Barry's  attention,  with  a  new  sense  of  broth- 
erhood toward  his  officers. 

"In  closing  what  I  have  to  say,  gentlemen,  let  me  make 
a  confession.  I  am  not  satisfied  with  the  battalion,  nor 
with  my  officers..  I  am  not  satisfied  with  myself.  I  re- 
member being  indignant  at  the  report  sent  in  by  the  in- 


SUBMARINES,  BULLPUPS,  OTHER  THINGS     153 

specting  officer  concerning  this  battalion.  I  thought  he 
was  unfair  and  unduly  severe.  I  believe  I  said  so.  Gen- 
tlemen, I  was  wrong.  Since  that  time  I  have  seen  work 
in  some  regiments  of  the  Imperial  Service,  and  especially, 
I  have  seen  the  work  on  the  front  line.  I  think  I  know 
now  what  discipline  means.  Discipline,  gentlemen,  is 
the  thing  that  saves  an  army  from  disaster.  Some  things 
we  must  cut  out  absolutely.  Whatever  unfits  for  service 
must  go.  I  saw  a  soldier,  a  Canadian  soldier,  shot  at 
the  front  for  being  intoxicated.  I  pray  God,  I  may  never 
see  the  like  again.  At  this  point,  I  wish  to  express  my 
appreciation  of  the  work  of  our  chaplain,  who  I  am  glad 
to  see  has  just  come  in.  He  has  stood  for  the  right  thing 
among  us,  and  has  materially  helped  in  the  discipline 
and  efficiency  of  this  battalion.  Gentlemen,  you  have 
your  orders.  Let  there  be  no  failure.  Obedience  is  de- 
manded, not  excuses.  Gentlemen,  carry  on!" 

Barry  hurried  away  to  his  hut.  The  words  of  his 
colonel  had  lifted  him  out  of  his  despair.  He  had  not 
then  so  desperately  failed.  His  colonel  had  found  some- 
thing in  him  to  approve.  And  France  was  before  him! 
There  was  still  a  chance  for  service.  The  boys  would 
need  him  there. 


CHAPTER    X 

FRANCE 

FRANCE,  sunny  France!"  The  tone  carried  concen- 
trated bitterness  and  disgust.  "One  cursed  fraud 
after  another  in  this  war." 

"Cheer  up!"  said  Barry.  "There's  worse  to  come — 
perhaps  better.  This  rain  is  beastly,  but  the  clouds 
will  pass,  and  the  sun  will  shine  again,  for  in  spite  of 
the  rain  this  is  'sunny  France.'  There's  a  little  homily 
for  you,"  said  Barry,  "and  for  myself  as  well,  for  I 
assure  you  this  combination  of  mat  de  mer  and  sleet 
makes  one  feel  rotten." 

"Everything  is  rotten,"  grumbled  Duff,  gazing  gloom- 
ily through  the  drizzling  rain  at  the  rugged  outline  of 
wharves  that  marked  the  Boulogne  docks. 

"Look  at  this,"  cried  Duff,  sweeping  his  hand  toward 
the  deck.  "You  would  think  this  stuff  was  shot  out  of 
the  blower  of  a  threshing  machine — soldier's  baggage, 
kits,  quartermaster's  stores — and  this  is  a  military  organ- 
isation. Good  Lord!" 

"Lieutenant  Duff!  Is  Lieutenant  Duff  here?"  It  was 
the  O.C.'s  voice. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Duff,  going  forward  and  saluting. 

"Mr.  Duff,  I  wish  you  to  take  charge  of  the  Transport 
for  the  present.  Lieutenant  Bonner  is  quite  useless — 
helpless,  I  mean.  You  will  find  Sergeant  Mackay  a  re- 
liable man.  Sorry  I  couldn't  give  you  longer  notice.  I 
think,  however,  you  are  the  man  for  the  job." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  sir,"  said  Duff,  saluting,  as  the  O. 
C.  turned  away. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Duff?"  said  Barry.  "You  cer- 
tainly are  in  for  it,  and  you  have  my  sympathy." 


FRANCE  155 

"Sympathy!  Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  said  Duff. 
"This  is  just  the  kind  of  thing  I  like.  I  haven't  run  a 
gang  of  navvies  in  the  Crow's  Nest  Pass  for  nothing. 
You  watch  my  smoke.  But,  one  word,  Pilot!  When 
you  see  me  bearing  down,  full  steam  ahead,  give  me 
room!  I'll  make  this  go  or  bust  something."  Then  in 
a  burst  of  confidence,  he  took  Barry  by  the  arm,  and 
added  in  a  low  voice:  "And  if  I  live,  Pilot,  I'll  be  run- 
ning something  in  this  war  bigger  than  the  Transport  of 
a  battalion  before  I'm  done." 

Barry  let  his  eyes  run  over  the  powerful  figure,  the 
rugged,  passionate  face,  lit  up  now  with  gleaming  eyes, 
and  said : 

"I  believe  you,  Duff.  Meantime,  I'll  watch  your 
smoke." 

"Do!"  replied  Duff  with  superb  self-confidence.  And 
it  was  worth  while  during  the  next  hour  to  watch  Duff 
evolve  order  out  of  chaos.  First  of  all  he  put  into 
his  men  and  into  his  sergeant  the  fear  of  death.  But 
he  did  more  than  that.  He  breathed  into  them  some- 
thing of  his  own  spirit  of  invincible  determination.  He 
had  them  springing  at  his  snappy  orders  with  an  eager- 
ness that  was  in  itself  the  larger  half  of  obedience,  and 
as  they  obeyed  they  became  conscious  that  they  were 
working  under  the  direction  of  a  brain  that  had  a  per- 
fected plan  of  action,  and  that  held  its  details  firmly  in 
its  grasp. 

Not  only  did  Duff  show  himself  a  master  of  organisa- 
tion and  control,  but  in  a  critical  moment  he  himself 
leaped  into  the  breach,  and  did  the  thing  that  balked  his 
men.  Did  a  heavy  transport  wagon  jamb  at  the  gang- 
way, holding  up  the  traffic,  with  a  spring,  Duff  was  at  the 
wheel.  A  heave  of  his  mighty  shoulders,  and  the  wagon 
went  roaring  down  the  gangway.  Did  a  horse,  stupid 
with  terror,  from  its  unusual  surroundings,  balk,  Duff 
had  a  "twitch"  on  its  upper  lip,  and  before  it  knew  what 
awful  thing  had  gripped  it,  the  horse  was  lifted  clear 
out  of  its  tracks,  and  was  on  its  way  to  the  dock. 


156     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Before  he  had  cleared  the  ship,  Duff  had  a  circle  of 
admirers  about  him,  gazing  as  if  at  a  circus. 

"An  energetic  officer  you  have  there,"  said  the  brass 
hat  standing  beside  the  colonel. 

"A  new  man.  This  is  his  first  time  on  the  transport," 
replied  the  colonel. 

"Quite  remarkable!  Quite  remarkable!"  exclaimed  the 
brass  hat.  "That  unloading  must  have  been  done  in 
record  time,  and  in  spite  of  quite  unusual  conditions." 

The  boat  being  clear  and  the  loads  made  up,  Duff 
approached  the  Commanding  Officer. 

"All  ready,  sir,"  he  announced.  "Shall  we  move  off? 
I  should  like  to  get  a  start.  The  roads  will  be  almost 
impassable,  I'm  afraid." 

"Do  you  know  the  route?"  asked  the  Commanding 
Officer. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  it  here." 

"All  right,  go  ahead,  Duff.  A  mighty  good  piece  of 
work  you  have  done  there." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Duff,  saluting  and  turning 
away. 

"Move  off,  there,"  he  shouted  to  the  leading  team. 

The  driver  started  the  team  but  they  slipped,  plunged 
and  fell  heavily.  Duff  was  at  their  heads  before  any 
other  man  could  move. 

"Get  hold  here,  men,"  he  yelled.  "Take  hold  of  that 
horse.  What  are  you  afraid  of?"  he  cried  to  a  groom 
who  was  gingerly  approaching  the  struggling  animal. 
"Now  then,  all  together!" 

When  he  had  the  team  on  their  feet  again,  he  said 
to  the  grooms  standing  at  their  heads,  "Jump  up  on 
the  horses'  backs;  that  will  help  the  them  to  hold  their 
footing." 

There  was  some  slight  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the 
grooms. 

"Come  on!"  he  roared,  and  striding  to  the  horse 
nearest  him,  he  flung  himself  upon  its  back. 

A  groom  mounted  the  other,  and  once  more  a  start 


FRANCE  157 

was  made,  but  they  had  not  gone  more  than  a  few 
steps,  when  the  groom's  horse  fell  heavily,  and  rolled 
over  on  its  side,  pinning  the  unfortunate  man  beneath 
him. 

There  was  a  shriek  of  agony.  In  an  instant  Duff  was 
off  his  horse  and  at  the  head  of  the  fallen  animal. 

"Medical  officer  here!"  he  shouted.  "Now  then,  two 
of  you  men.  One  of  you  pull  out  that  man  while  we 
lift." 

The  horse's  head  and  shoulders  were  lifted  clear,  and 
the  injured  man  was  pulled  out  of  danger. 

"Take  him  out  of  the  way,  please,  doctor,"  said  Duff, 
to  the  M.  O.,  who  was  examining  the  groom. 

"Sergeant!" 

His  sergeant  literally  sprang  to  his  side. 

"Get  me  a  dozen  bags,"  he  said. 

"Bags,  sir?     I  don't  know  where " 

"Bags,"  repeated  Duff  savagely.  "Canvas,  anything 
to  wrap  around  these  horses'  feet." 

The  sergeant  without  further  words  plunged  into  the 
darkness,  returning  almost  immediately  with  half  a 
dozen  bags. 

"Thanks,  sergeant;  that's  the  way  to  move.  Now  get 
some  more!" 

Under  Duff's  directions  the  bags  were  tied  about  the 
feet  of  the  horses,  thus  enabling  them  to  hold  their 
footing,  and  the  transport  moved  off  in  the  darkness. 

Returning  from  the  disposing  of  the  injured  man,  the 
M.  O.  found  Barry  shivering  with  the  cold,  and  weak 
from  his  recent  attack  of  seasickness. 

"There  will  be  no  end  of  a  sick  parade  to-morrow 
morning,  and  you'll  be  one  of  them,"  grumbled  the  M. 
O.  "If  they  don't  move  them  out  of  here  soon  they'll 
take  them  away  in  ambulances.  There  are  a  hundred 
men  at  this  moment  fit  to  go  to  hospital,  but  the  O.C. 
won't  hear  of  it." 

"Doc,  they  ought  to  have  something  hot.  The  kitchens 


158     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

are  left  behind,  I  understand.  Let  me  have  a  couple  of 
your  men,  and  let  me  see  what  I  can  do." 

"It's  no  use,  I've  tried  all  the  hotels  about  here. 
They're  full  up." 

"No  harm  trying,  doc,"  said  Barry,  and  off  he  went. 

But  he  found  the  hotels  full  up,  as  the  doctor  had 
said.  After  much  inquiry,  he  found  his  way  to  the 
Y.  M.  C  A.  A  cheerful  but  sleepy  secretary,  half  dead 
with  the  fatigue  of  a  heavy  day  ministering  to  soldiers 
"going  up  the  line,"  could  offer  him  no.  help  at  all. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  place  in  this 
town,"  said  Barry  desperately,  "where  a  sick  man  can 
get  a  dish  of  coffee?" 

"Sick  man!"  cried  the  secretary.  "Why,  certainly! 
Why  not  try  the  R.  A.  M.  C.?  They've  a  hospital  half 
a  mile  up  the  street.  They  will  certainly  help  you  out. 
I'll  come  with  you." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Barry.  "You  go  back  to  bed. 
I'll  find  the  place." 

Half  a  mile  up  the  street,  as  the  secretary  had  said, 
Barry  came  upon  the  flaring  lantern  of  the  R.  A.  M.  C.,, 
at  the  entrance  to  a  huge  warehouse,  the  gate  of  which 
stood  wide  open. 

Entering  the  courtyard,  Barry  found  a  group  of  men 
about  a  blazing  fire. 

"May  I  see  the  officer  in  charge?"  he  asked,  approach- 
ing the  group. 

The  men  glanced  at  his  rank  badges. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  a  sergeant,  clicking  his  heels  smartly. 
"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Barry,  and  told  him  his  wants. 

"We  have  plenty  of  biscuits,"  said  the  sergeant,  "and 
coffee,  too.  You  are  welcome  to  all  you  can  carry,  but 
I  don't  see  how  we  can  do  any  more  for  you.  But 
would  you  like  to  see  the  officer  in  charge,  sir  ?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Barry,  and  together  they  passed 
into  another  room. 

But  the  officer  was  engaged  elsewhere.     While  they 


FRANCE  159 

were  discussing  the  matter,  a  door  opened,  and  a  young 
girl  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  V.  A.  D.  (Voluntary 
Aid  Detachment)  appeared. 

"What  is  it,  sergeant?"  she  inquired,  in  a  soft  but 
rather  tired  voice. 

The  sergeant  explained,  while  she  listened  with  mild 
interest.  Then  Barry  took  up  the  tale,  and  proceeded  to 
dilate  upon  the  wretched  condition  of  his  comrades,  out 
in  the  icy  rain.  But  his  story  moved  the  V.  A.  D. 
not  at  all.  She  had  seen  too  much  of  the  real  misery 
and  horrors  of  war.  Barry  began  to  feel  discouraged, 
and  indeed  a  little  ashamed  of  himself. 

"You  see,  we  have  just  come  over,"  he  said  in  an 
apologetic  tone,  "and  we  don't  know  much  about  war 
yet." 

"You  are  Canadians?"  cried  the  girl,  a  new  interest 
dawning  in  her  eyes.  As  she  came  into  the  light,  Barry 
noticed  that  they  were  brown,  and  that  they  were  very 
lustrous. 

"I  love  the  Canadians,"  she  exclaimed.  "My  brother 
was  a  liaison  artillery  officer  at  Ypres ;  with  them,  at  the 
time  of  the  gas,  you  know.  He  liked  them  immensely." 
Her  voice  was  soft  and  sad. 

Unconsciously  Barry  let  his  eyes  fall  to  the  black 
band  on  her  arm. 

"He  was  with  the  Canadians,  too,  when  he  was 
killed  at  Armentieres,  three  months  ago." 

"Killed!"  exclaimed  Barry.  "Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for 
you." 

"I  had  two  brothers,"  she  went  on,  in  her  gentle  even 
tone.  "One  was  killed  at  Landrecies,  on  the  retreat  from 
Mons,  you  know." 

"No,"  said  Barry,  "I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  about  it. 
Tell  me!" 

"It  was  a  great  fight,"  said  the  girl.  "Oh,  a  splendid 
fight!"  A  ring  came  into  her  voice  and  a  little  colour 
into  her  cheek.  "They  tried  to  rush  our  men,  but  they 
couldn't.  My  oldest  brother  was  there  in  charge  of  a 


160     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

machine  gun  section.  The  machine  guns  did  wonderful 
work.  The  colonel  came  to  tell  us  about  it  He  said 
it  was  very  fine."  There  was  no  sign  of  tears  in  her 
eyes,  nor  tremor  in  her  voice,  only  tenderness  and  pride. 

"And  your  mother  is  alone  now  ?"  inquired  Barry. 

"Oh,  we  gave  up  our  house  to  the  government  for 
a  hospital.  You  see,  father  was  in  munitions.  He's  too 
old  for  active  service,  and  mother  is  matron  in  the 
hospital.  She  was  very  unwilling  that  I  should  come 
over  here.  She  said  I  was  far  too  young,  but  of  course 
that's  quite  nonsense.  So  you  see,  we  are  all  in  it." 

"It  is  perfectly  amazing,"  said  Barry.  "You  British 
women  are  wonderful!" 

The  brown  eyes  opened  a  little  wider. 

"Wonderful?  Why,  what  else  could  we  do?  But  the 
Canadians!  I  think  they're  wonderful,  coming  all  this 
way  to  fight." 

"I  can't  see  that,"  said  Barry.  "That's  what  that  old 
naval  boy  at  Devonport  said,  but  I  can't  see  that  it's 
anything  wonderful  that  we  should  fight  for  our  Empire." 

"Devonport!  A  naval  officer!"  The  girl  lost  her 
calm.  She  became  excited.  "What  was  his  name  ?" 

"I  have  his  card  here,"  said  Barry,  taking  out  his 
pocket  book  and  handing  her  the  card. 

"My  uncle!"  she  cried.  "Why,  how  perfectly  splen- 
did!" offering  Barry  her  hand.  "Why,  we're  really 
introduced^  Then  you're  the  man  that  Uncle  How- 
ard  "  She  stopped  abruptly,  a  flush  on  her.  cheek. 

Then  she  turned  to  the  N.  C.  O.  "Yes,  sergeant,  that 
will  do,"  as  the  man  brought  half  a  dozen  large  biscuit 
cans  and  as  many  large  bottles  of  prepared  coffee. 

As  Barry's  eyes  fell  upon  the  biscuit  cans  an  idea 
came  to  him. 

"Will  these  cans  hold  water?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"Then,  we're  fixed,"  cried  Barry,  in  high  delight.  "This 
is  perfectly  fine." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  girl. 


FRANCE  161 

"We'll  dump  the  biscuits,  and  boil  the  coffee  in  the 
cans.  I  haven't  camped  on  the  Athabasca  for  nothing. 
Now  we're  all  right  and  I  suppose  we  must  go." 

The  V.  A.  D.  hesitated  a  moment,  then  she  took  the 
sergeant  to  one  side,  and  entered  into  earnest  and 
persuasive  talk  with  him. 

"It's  against  regulations,  miss,"  Barry  heard  him  say, 
"and  besides,  you  know,  we're  expecting  a  hospital  train 
any  minute,  and  every  car  will  be  needed." 

"Then  I'll  take  my  own  car,"  she  said.  "It's  all  ready 
and  has  the  chains  on,  sergeant,  I  think." 

"Yes,  it's  quite  ready,  but  you  will  get  me  into  trouble, 
miss." 

"Then,  I'll  get  you  out  again.  Load  those  things  in, 

while  I  run  and  change I'm  going  to  drive  you  out 

to  your  camp,"  she  said  to  Barry  as  she  hurried  away. 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head  as  he  looked  after  her. 

"She's  a  thoroughbred,  sir,"  he  said.  "We  jump  when 
she  asks  us  for  anything.  She's  a  real  blooded  one ;  not 
like  some,  sir — like  some  of  them  fullrigged  ones.  They 
keep  'er  'oppin'." 

"Fullrigged  ones?"  inquired  Barry. 

•'Them  nurses,  I  mean,  sir.  They  loves  to  'awe  them 
— them  young  'Vaddies,'  as  we  call  them — V.  A.  D., 
you  know,  sir.  They  keeps  'em  a  'oppin'  proper — scrub- 
bin'  floors,  runnin'  messages,  but  Miss  Vincent,  she 
mostly  drives  a  car." 

While  the  sergeant  was  dilating  upon  the  virtues  and 
excellences  of  the  young  V.  A.  D.,  his  men  ran  out 
her  car,  and  packed  into  it  the  biscuit  tins  and  coffee. 
By  the  time  the  sergeant  was  ready  she  was  back,  dressed 
in  a  chauffeur's  uniform. 

Barry  had  thought  her  charming  in  her  V.  A.  D. 
dress,  but  in  her  uniform  she  was  bewitching.  He 
noticed  that  her  hair  clustered  in  tiny  ringlets  about  her 
natty  little  cap,  in  quite  a  maddening  way.  One  vagrant 
curl  over  her  ear  had  a  particular  fascination  for  his 
eyes.  He  felt  it  ought  to  be  tucked  in  just  a  shade. 


162     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

He  was  conscious  of  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  do 
the  tucking  in.  What  would  happen  if 

"Well,  are  you  ready?"  inquired  the  girl  in  a  quick, 
businesslike  tone. 

"What?  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barry,  recalled  to  the  business 
of  the  moment. 

During  the  drive  the  girl  gave  her  whole  attention 
to  her  wheel,  as  indeed  was  necessary,  for  the  road  was 
dangerously  slippery,  and  she  drove  without  lights 
through  the  black  night.  Barry  kept  up  an  endless  stream 
of  talk,  set  going  by  her  command,  as  she  took  her 
place  at  the  wheel.  "Now  tell  me  about  Canada.  I  can 
listen,  but  I  can't  talk." 

In  the  full  tide  of  his  most  eloquent  passages,  Barry 
found  himself  growing  incoherent  at  times,  for  his  mind 
was  in  a  state  of  oscillation  between  the  wonderful  and 
lustrous  qualities  of  the  brown  eyes  that  he  remembered 
flashing  upon  him  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  that  mad- 
dening little  curl  over  the  girl's  ear. 

In  an  unbelievably  short  time,  so  it  seemed  to  him, 
they  came  upon  the  rear  of  a  marching  column. 

"These  are  your  men,  I  fancy,"  she  said,  "and  this  will 
be  your  camp  on  the  left;  I  know  it  well.  I've  often 
been  here." 

She  swung  the  car  off  the  road  into  an  open  field,  set 
out  with  tents,  and  brought  the  car  to  a  stop  beside  an 
old  ruined  factory. 

"This,  I  believe,  will  be  the  best  place  for  your  pur- 
pose," she  said,  and  sprang  from  her  seat,  and  ran  to 
the  ruin,  flashing  her  torchlight  before  her.  "Here  you 
are,"  she  said.  "This  will  be  just  the  thing." 

Barry  followed  her  a  few  steps  down  into  the  long, 
stone-flagged  cellar. 

"Splendid !  This  is  the  very  thing,"  he  cried  enthusi- 
astically. "You  are  really  the  most  wonderful  person." 

"Now  get  your  stuff  in  here,"  she  ordered.  "But 
what  will  you  do  for  wood?  There  is  always  water,"  she 
added,  "in  some  tanks  further  on.  Come,  I'll  show  you." 


FRANCE  163 

Barry  followed  her  in  growing  amazement  and  admi- 
ration at  her  prompt  efficiency. 

"Now  then,  there  are  your  tanks,"  she  said.  "As  for 
wood,  I  don't  know  what  you  will  do,  but  there  is  a  gar- 
den paling  a  little  further  on,  and,  of  course " 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  said  Barry. 

"I  won't,"  with  a  gay  laugh;  "I  know  you  Canadians, 
you  see." 

Together  they  returned  to  the  car. 

Before  she  mounted  to  her  seat  she  turned  to  Barry, 
and  offered  him  her  hand  and  said :  "I  think  it  is  per- 
fectly ripping  that  we  were  introduced  in  this  way. 
Though  I  don't  know  your  name  yet,"  she  added  shyly. 

"Awfully  stupid  of  me,"  said  Barry,  and  he  gave  her 
his  name,  adding  that  of  the  regiment,  and  his  rank. 

"Good-bye,  then,"  she  said,  climbing  into  her  car,  and 
starting  her  engine. 

"But,"  said  Barry,  "I  must  see  you  safely  back." 

She  laughed  a  scornful  but,  as  Barry  thought,  a  most 
delicious  little  laugh. 

"Nonsense!  We  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  here,  you 
know.  We're  on  our  own." 

A  little  silence  fell  between  them. 

"WThen  does  your  battalion  march?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

"Perhaps  to-morrow.     I  don't  know." 

"If  you  do  go  then,"  she  said,  with  again  that  little 
touch  of  shyness,  "I  suppose  I  won't  see  you  again." 

"See  you  again,"  exclaimed  Barry,  his  tone  indicating 
that  the  possibility  of  such  a  calamity  was  unthinkable, 
"why,  of  course  I  shall  see  you  again.  I  must  see  you 
again — I — I — I  just  must  see  you  again." 

"Good  night,  then,"  she  said  in  a  soft,  hurried  voice, 
throwing  in  her  clutch. 

Barry  stood  listening  in  the  dark  to  the  hum  of  her 
engine,  growing  more  faint  every  moment. 

"Some  girl,  eh?"  said  a  voice.  At  his  side  he  saw 
Harry  Hobbs.  Barry  turned  sharply  upon  him. 


164     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Now  then,  Hobbs,  some  wood  and  we  will  get  a  fire 
going  and  look  lively!  And,  Hobbs,  I  believe  there's  a 
fence  about  fifty  yards  down  there,  which  you  might  find 
useful.  Now  move.  Quick!"  Unconsciously  he  tried 
to  reproduce,  in  uttering  the  last  word,  Duff's  tone  and 
manner.  The  effect  was  evident  immediately. 

Hobbs  without  further  words  departed  in  the  dark- 
ness. Again  Barry  stood  listening  to  the  hum  of  the 
engine,  until  he  could  no  longer  hear  it  in  the  noise  and 
confusion  of  the  camp,  but  in  his  heart  Harry's  words 
made  music. 

"Some  girl,  eh?" 

As  he  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  hearing  that  music 
in  his  heart,  a  voice  broke  in,  swearing  hard  and  deep 
oaths.  It  was  the  M.  O. 

"Hello,  doc,  my  boy ;  come  here,"  cried  Barry. 

The  M.  O.  approached.  He  was  in  a  state  of  rage  that 
rendered  coherent  speech  impossible. 

"Oh,  quit  it,  doc.     Let  me  show  you  something." 

He  led  him  into  the  ruin,  where  his  spoils  were  cached. 

"Biscuits,  my  boy,  and  coffee.  Hold  on!  Listen! 
I'm  going  to  get  a  fire  going  here  and  in  twenty  minutes 
there'll  be  six  cans  of  fragrant  delicious  coffee,  boiling 
hot." 

"Why,  how  the " 

"Doc,  don't  talk !  Listen  to  me !  You  round  up  your 
sick  men,  and  bring  them  quietly  over  here.  I  don't  know 
how  many  I  can  supply,  but  at  least,  I  think,  a  hundred." 

"Why,  how  the  devil ?" 

"Go  on ;  I  haven't  time  to  talk  to  you.    Get  busy !" 

Working  by  flashlight,  the  men  cut  open  the  tins, 
dumped  the  biscuits  on  a  blanket  spread  in  a  corner  of 
the  cellar,  while  Barry  made  preparations  for  a  fire. 

"Here,  Hobbs,  you  punch  two  holes  in  these  cans,  just 
an  inch  from  the  top." 

Soon  the  fire  was  blazing  cheerily.  In  its  light  Barry 
was  searching  through  the  ruin. 


FRANCE  165 

"By  Jove,"  he  shouted,  "the  very  thing.  Just  made 
for  us." 

He  pulled  out  a  long  steel  rod  from  a  heap  of  rubbish 
and  ran  with  it  to  the  fire. 

"Here,  boys,  punch  a  hole  in  this  wall.  Now  then,  for 
the  cans.  String  them  on  this  rod." 

In  twenty  minutes  the  coffee  was  ready. 

"How  is  it?"  he  inquired  anxiously,  handing  a  mess 
tin  full  to  one  of  his  men. 

The  boy  tasted  it. 

"Like  mother  made,"  he  said,  with  a  grin.  "Gee, 
but  it's  good." 

At  that  moment  the  doctor  appeared  at  the  cellar  door. 

"I  say,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "there  will  be  a  riot  here  in 
fifteen  minutes.  That  coffee  smells  the  whole  camp." 

"Bring  'em  along,  doc.  The  sick  chaps  first.  By  Jove, 
here's  the  sergeant  major  himself." 

"What's  all  this?"  inquired  the  sergeant  major  in  his 
gruffest  voice.  "Who's  responsible  for  this  fire  ?" 

"Coffee,  sergeant  major?"  answered  Barry,  handing 
him  a  tin  full. 

"But  what ?" 

"Drink  it  first,  sergeant  major." 

The  sergeant  major  took  the  mess  tin  and  tasted  the 
coffee. 

"Well,  this  is  fine,"  he  declared,  "and  it's  what  the  boys 
want.  But  this  fire  is  against  orders,  sir.  I  ought  to 
have  it  put  out." 

"You  will  have  it  put  out  over  my  dead  body,  ser- 
geant major,"  cried  the  M.  O. 

"And  mine,"  added  Barry. 

"By  gad,  we'll  chance  the  zeps,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant 
major.  "This  freezin'  rain  will  kill  more  men  than  a 
bomb.  Bring  in  your  men,  sir,"  he  added  to  the  M.  O. 
"But  I  must  see  the  O.  C." 

The  sergeant  major's  devotion  to  military  discipline 
was  struggling  hard  with  his  humanity,  which,  under  his 
rugged  exterior,  beat  warm  in  his  heart. 


166     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Why  bother  with  the  O.  C.  ?"  said  the  M.  D. 

"But  I  must  see  him,"  insisted  the  sergeant  major. 

He  had  not  far  to  go  to  attain  his  purpose. 

"Hello!  What  the  devil  is  this?"  exclaimed  a  loud 
voice  at  the  door. 

"By  gad,  it's  the  old  man  himself,"  muttered  the  M. 
O.  to  Barry.  "Now  look  out  for  ructions." 

In  came  the  O.  C.,  followed  by  a  brass  hat.  Barry 
went  forward  with  a  steaming  tin  of  coffee. 

"Sorry  our  china  hasn't  arrived  yet,  sir,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  "but  the  coffee  isn't  bad,  the  boys  say." 

"Why,  it's  you,  Dunbar,"  said  the  colonel,  peering  in- 
to his  face,  and  shaking  the  rain  drops  from  his  coat. 
"I  might  have  guessed  that  you'd  be  in  it.  Where  there's 
any  trouble,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  brass  hat 
at  his  side,  "you  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  Pilot  or  the 
M.  O.  here  will  be  in  it.  By  Jove,  this  coffee  goes  to 
the  right  spot  Have  a  cup,  major?"  he  said  as  Barry 
brought  a  second  tin. 

"It's  against  regulations,  you  know,"  said  the  major, 
taking  the  mess  tin  gingerly.  "Fires  are  quite  forbidden. 
Air  raids,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know." 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  major,"  cried  the  O.  C.  "The  coffee 
is  fine,  and  my  men  will  be  a  lot  better  for  it.  This  camp 
of  yours,  anyway,  is  no  place  for  human  beings,  and 
especially  for  men  straight  off  the  boat.  As  for  me,  I'm 
devilish  glad  to  get  this  coffee.  Give  me  another  tin, 
Pilot." 

"It's  quite  irregular,"  murmured  the  major,  still  drink- 
ing his  coffee.  "It's  quite  irregular!  But  I  see  the  door 
is  fairly  well  guarded  against  light,  and  perhaps " 

"I  think  we'll  just  carry  on,"  said  the  colonel.  "If 
there, is  any  trouble,  I'll  assume  the  responsibility  for  it. 
Thank  you,  Pilot.  Just  keep  guard  on  the  light  here, 
sergeant  major." 

"All  right,  sir.  Very  good,  sir,  we  will  hang  up  a 
blanket." 

Meanwhile  the  news  had  spread  throughout  the  camp, 


FRANCE  167 

and  before  many  minutes  had  passed  the  cellar  was 
jammed  with  a  crowd  of  men  that  reached  through  the 
door  and  out  into  the  night.  The  crowd  was  becoming 
noisy  and  there  was  danger  of  confusion.  Then  the 
pilot  climbed  up  on  a  heap  of  rubbish  and  made  a  little 
speech. 

"Men,"  he  called  out,  "this  coffee  is  intended  first  of 
all  for  the  sick  men  in  this  battalion.  Those  sick  men 
must  first  be  cared  for.  After  that  we  shall  distribute 
the  coffee  as  far  as  it  will  go.  There  is  plenty  of  water 
outside,  and  I  think  I  have  plenty  of  coffee.  Sergeant 
major,  I  suggest  that  you  round  up  these  men  in  some 
sort  of  order." 

A  few  sharp  words  of  command  from  the  sergeant 
major  brought  order  out  of  confusion,  and  for  two  hours 
there  filed  through  the  cellar  a  continuous  stream  of 
men,  each  bringing  an  empty  mess  tin,  and  carrying 
it  away  full  of  hot  and  fragrant  coffee. 

By  the  time  the  men  had  been  supplied  the  officers 
were  finished  with  their  duties,  and  having  got  word  of 
the  Pilot's  coffee  stall,  came  crowding  in.  One  and  all 
they  were  vociferous  in  their  praise  of  the  chaplain,  vot- 
ing him  a  "good  fellow"  and  a  "life-saver"  of  the  highest 
order.  But  it  was  felt  by  all  that  Corporal  Thorn  ex- 
pressed the  general  consensus  of  opinion  to  his  friend 
Timms.  "That  Pilot  of  ours,"  he  declared,  "runs  a  little 
to  the  narrow  gauge,  but  in  that  last  round  up  he  was 
telling  us  about  last  Sunday  there  won't  be  the  goat  run 
for  him.  It's  him  for  the  baa  baas,  sure  enough." 

And  though  in  the  vernacular  the  corporal's  words  did 
not  sound  quite  reverent,  it  was  agreed  that  they  ex- 
pressed in  an  entirely  satisfactory  manner  the  general 
opinion  of  the  battalion. 

An  hour  later,  weaned  as  he  was,  Barry  crawled  into 
his  icy  blankets,  but  with  a  warmer  feeling  in  his  heart 
than  he  had  known  since  he  joined  the  battalion.  But 
before  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  there  came  into  his  mind 
a  thought  that  brought  him  up  wide  awake.  He  had 


168     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

quite  forgotten  all  about  his  duty  as  chaplain.  "What  a 
chance  you  had  there,"  insisted  his  chaplain's  conscience, 
"for  a  word  that  would  really  hearten  your  men.  This 
is  their  first  night  in  France.  To-morrow  they  march 
up  to  danger  and  death.  What  a  chance!  And  you 
missed  it." 

Barry  was  too  weary  to  discuss  the  matter  further, 
but  as  he  fell  asleep  he  said  to  himself,  "At  any  rate,  the 
boys  are  feeling  a  lot  better,"  and  in  spite  of  his  sense 
of  failure,  that  thought  brought  him  no  small  comfort. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   NEW    MESSAGE 

I  THINK,"  said  Barry,  to  the  M.  O.,  "I  really  ought  to 
ride  down  to  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  hospital,  and  tell  them 
how  the  boys  enjoyed  the  coffee  last  night."  His  face 
was  slightly  flushed,  but  the  flush  might  have  been  due 
to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  busily  engaged  in  tying 
up  the  thongs  of  his  bed-roll,  an  awkward  job  at  times, 

"Sure  thing,"  agreed  the  M.  O.  heartily.  "Indeed  it's 
absolutely  essential,  and  say,  old  chap,  you  might  tell 
her  how  I  enjoyed  my  coffee.  She  will  be  glad  to  hear 
about  me." 

Barry  heaved  his  bed-roll  at  the  doctor  and  departed. 

At  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  Hospital  the  Officer  Commanding, 
to  whom  he  had  sent  in  his  card,  gave  him  a  cordial 
greeting. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  you,  sir.  We  have  quite  a  lot  of 
your  chaps  here  now  and  then,  and  fine  fellows  they 
seem  to  be.  We  expect  a  hospital  train  this  morning, 
and  I  understand  there  are  some  Canadians  among  them. 
Rather  a  bad  go  a  few  days  ago  at  St.  Eloi.  Heavy 
casualty  list.  Clearing  stations  all  crowded,  and  so  they 
are  sending  a  lot  down  the  line." 

"Canadians?"  asked  Barry,  thinking  of  his  father. 
"You  have  not  heard  what  unit,  sir?" 

"No,  we  only  get  the  numbers  and  the  character  of 
the  casualties  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Well,  I  must  be 
off.  Would  you  care  to  look  around?" 

"Thank  you,  no.  We  are  also  on  the  march.  I  sim- 
ply came  to  tell  you  how  very  greatly  our  men  appre- 
ciated your  help  last  night." 

169 


170     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Oh,  that's  perfectly  all  right.  Glad  the  sergeant  had 
sense  enough  to  do  the  right  thing." 

Barry  hesitated. 

"May  I  see — ah — the  sergeant?" 

"The  sergeant?  Why,  certainly,  but  it's  not  neces- 
sary at  all." 

The  sergeant  was  called  and  duly  thanked.  The  R. 
A.  M.  C.  officer  was  obviously  anxious  to  be  rid  of  his 
visitor  and  to  get  off  to  his  duty. 

Still  Barry  lingered. 

"There  was  also  a  young  lady,  sir,  last  night,"  he 
said  at  length. 

"A  young  lady?" 

"Sister  Vincent,  sir,"  interjected  the  sergeant.  "She 
ran  them  up  to  the  camp  in  her  car,  sir.  The  ambulances 
and  cars  were  all  under  orders." 

"Ah !     Ran  you  up  to  the  camp,  eh  ?"  . 

"Yes,  she  ran  us  up  with  the  biscuits  and  coffee.  It 
was  awfully  kind  of  her." 

"Ah! — Um! — Very  good!  Very  good!  Sergeant, 
call  her,"  said  the  O.  C.  abruptly. 

"I'm  afraid  she'd  be  asleep  now,  sir.  She  was  on 
night  duty,  sir." 

"Oh,  then,"  said  Barry,  "please  don't  disturb  her.  I 
wouldn't  think  of  it.  If  you  will  be  kind  enough,  sir, 
to  convey  the  thanks  of  the  men  and  of  myself  to  her." 

"Surely,  surely !  Well,  I  really  must  be  going.  Good- 
bye! Good  luck!" 

He  turned  to  his  motor  car.  "I  won't  forget,  sir,"  he 
said  to  Barry.  "Oh,  I'll  be  sure  to  tell  her,"  he  added 
with  a  significant  smile. 

As  Barry  was  mounting  his  horse,  the  strains  of  the 
battalion  band  were  heard  floating  down  the  street.  He 
drew  up  his  horse  beside  the  entrance  and  waited.  Down 
the  winding  hill  they  came,  tall,  lean,  hard-looking  men, 
striding  with  the  free,  easy  swing  of  the  men  of  the 
foothills.  Barry  felt  his  heart  fill  with  pride  in  his 
comrades. 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  171 

"By  Jove,"  he  said  to  himself,  "the  boys  are  all  right." 

"Fine  body  of  men,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant,  who  with 
his  comrades  had  gathered  about  the  gateway. 

"Not  too  bad,  eh,  sergeant?"  said  Barry,  with  modest 
pride. 

"Sir,"  said  the  sergeant  in  a  low  voice,  "the  young 
lady  is  up  at  the  window  to  your  left." 

"Sergeant,  you're  a  brick!  Thank  you,"  said  Barry. 
He  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  saw  above  him  a  window 
filled  with  smiling  nurses  looking  down  at  the  marching 
column,  and  among  them  his  friend  of  the  night  before. 
Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  and  her  eyes  were 
upon  the  column,  eagerly  searching  the  ranks  of  the 
marching  men. 

"Sergeant,"  said  Barry,  "your  Commanding  Officer 
is  a  very  busy  man,  and  has  a  great  many  things  to 
occupy  his  attention.  Don't  you  think  it  is  quite  possible 
that  that  message  of  mine  might  escape  his  memory,  and 
don't  you  think  it  would  be  really  more  satisfactory  if  I 
could  deliver  that  message  in  person?" 

The  sergeant  tilted  his  hat  over  one  eye,  and  scratched 
his  head. 

"Well,  sir,  the  Commanding  Officer  does  'ave  a  lot 
of  things  to  think  about,  and  though  he  doesn't  often 
forget,  he  might.  Besides,  I  really  think  the  young  lady 
would  like  to  know  just  how  the  coffee  went." 

"Sergeant,  you  are  a  man  of  discernment.  I'll  just 
wait  here  until  the  battalion  passes." 

He  moved  his  horse  a  few  steps  out  from  the  gateway, 
and  swung  him  around  so  that  he  stood  facing  the  win- 
dow. The  movement  caught  the  attention  of  the  V.  A. 
D.  in  the  window.  She  glanced  down,  saw  him,  and, 
leaning  far  out,  waved  her  hand  in  eager  greeting  and 
with  a  smile  of  warm  friendliness. 

He  had  only  time  to  wave  his  hand  in  reply,  when  the 
head  of  the  column  drew  opposite  the  gateway,  forcing 
him  to  turn  his  back  to  the  window  and  stand  at  salute. 

The  Commanding  Officer  acknowledged  the  salute, 


172     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

glanced  up  at  the  window,  waved  his  hand  to  the  group 
of  nurses  there  gathered,  then  glanced  back  at  Barry, 
with  a  smile  full  of  meaning,  and  rode  on. 

After  the  band  had  passed  the  entrance,  it  ceased  play- 
ing, and  the  men,  catching  sight  of  Barry  and  the  smiling 
group  at  the  window  above  him,  broke  softly  into  a  rather 
suggestive  music  hall  ditty,  at  that  time  popular  with 
the  soldiers: 

"Hello!   Hello!   Who's  your  lady  friend; 
Who's  the  little  blossom  by  your  side; 
I  saw  you,  with  a  girl  or  two, 
Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  I'm  surprised  at  you." 

Down  the  length  of  the  column  the  refrain  passed, 
gradually  gaining  in  strength  and  volume,  until  by  the 
time  the  rear  came  opposite  the  entrance,  the  men  were 
shouting  with  wide  open  throats: 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  I'm  surprised  at  you," 

with  a  growing  emphasis  and  meaning  upon  every  suc- 
cessive "Oh!" 

Barry's  face  was  aflame  and  his  heart  hot  with  furious 
indignation.  She  was  not  that  kind  of  a  girl.  She 
would  be  humiliated  before  her  associates.  He  glanced 
up  at  the  window  but  she  was  gone.  The  battalion 
marched  on  but  Barry  still  remained,  his  eyes  following 
the  swinging  column,  his  face  still  flaming,  and  his 
heart  hot  with  indignation. 

"Good  morning,  Captain  Dunbar!" 

He  swung  off  his  horse,  and  there  smiling  at  him  with 
warm  friendliness  was  the  little  V.  A.  D. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  began  Barry,  thinking  of  the 
impudent  song  of  his  comrades.  "I  mean  I'm  very  glad 
to  see  you.  I  just  ran  in  to  tell  you  how  splendidly 
the  coffee  went  last  night.  There  are  a  hundred  fellows 
marching  along  there  that  are  fine  and  fit  just  because  of 
your  kindness,  and  I'm  here  to  give  you  their  thanks." 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  173 

Barry  felt  that  he  was  cutting  a  rather  poor  figure.  His 
words  came  haltingly  and  stumblingly.  The  suggestive 
music  hall  ditty  was  still  in  his  mind. 

"What  a  splendid  band  you  have,"  she  said,  "and  how 
splendidly  the  men  sing." 

"Sing!"  cried  Barry  indignantly.  "Oh,  yes,  they 
do  sing  rather  well,  don't  they?"  he  added,  greatly  re- 
lieved. "I  have  only  a  minute,"  he  added  hurriedly, 
"but  I  wanted  to  see  you  again,  and  I  wonder  if  I  may 
drop  you  a  little  note  now  and  then,  just  to — well,  hang 
it  all — just  to  keep  in  touch  with  you.  I  don't  want  you 
to  quite  forget  me." 

"Oh,  I  won't  forget  you,"  she  said.  The  brown  eyes 
looked  straight  at  him.  "You  see,  after  all,  my  uncle 
knows  you  so  well.  Indeed,  he  told  me  about  you.  You 
see,  we  really  are  friends,  in  a  way,  aren't  we?" 

"We  are  indeed,  and  you  are  awfully  good.  Good- 
bye!" 

"Goodbye,"  she  said,  "and  if  I  leave  here  soon,  I 
promise  to  let  you  know." 

And  Barry  rode  away,  his  heart  in  such  a  turmoil  as 
he  had  never  known.  In  his  ears  lingered  the  music  of 
that  soft  voice,  and  his  eyes  saw  a  bewildering  complexity 
of  dancing  ringlets  and  lustrous  glances,  until  he  drew 
up  at  the  rear  of  the  column  and  found  himself  riding 
once  more  beside  his  friend,  the  M.  O. 

"Congratulations,  old  man,"  said  the  doctor.  "She's 
a  blossom,  all  right.  Cheer  up ;  you  may  find  her  bend- 
ing over  your  white  face  some  day,  holding  your  hand,  or 
smoothing  your  brow,  in  the  approved  V.  A.  D.  manner." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  doc,"  said  Barry  with  quite  unusual  curt- 
ness.  "She's  not  that  kind  of  a  girl." 

"Ah,  who  knows!"  said  the  doctor.   "Who  knows!" 

At  the  railway  station,  the  battalion  was  halted,  await- 
ing the  making  up  of  their  train,  the  departure  of  which 
was  delayed  by  the  incoming  hospital  train  from  up  the 
line.  They  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"Here  she  is,  boys!"  called  out  a  soldier.     And  into 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

the  station  slowly  rolled  that  hospital  train,  with  its 
freight  of  wounded  men,  mutilated,  maimed,  broken.  Its 
windows  were  crowded  with  faces,  white  as  their  swath- 
ings,  worn,  spent,  deep-lined,  from  which  looked  forth 
eyes,  indifferent,  staring,  but  undaunted  and  indomitable. 

Gradually,  with  stately  movement,  as  befitted  its  noble 
burden,  the  train  came  to  rest  immediately  opposite  the 
battalion.  With  grave,  fascinated,  horror-stricken  faces 
the  men  of  the  battalion  stood  rigid  and  voiceless  gazing 
at  that  deeply  moving  spectacle.  Before  their  eyes  were 
being  paraded  the  tragic,  pathetic  remnants  of  a  gallant 
regiment,  which  but  a  few  weeks  before  had  stood  where 
they  now  stood,  vital  with  life,  tingling  with  courage.  At 
their  country's  bidding  they  had  ascended  that  Holy 
Mount  of  Sacrifice,  to  offer  upon  the  altar  of  the  world's 
freedom  their  bodies  as  a  living  sacrifice  unto  God,  holy 
and  acceptable.  Now,  their  offering  being  made,  they 
were  being  borne  back  helpless,  bruised,  shattered  but 
unconquered  and  eternally  glorious. 

Silently  the  two  companies  gazed  at  each  other  across 
the  intervening  space.  Then  from  the  window  of  the 
train  a  soldier  thrust  a  bandaged  head  and  bandaged 
arm. 

"Hello  there,  Canada!"  he  cried,  waving  the  arm.  In- 
stantly, as  if  he  had  touched  a  hidden  spring,  from  the 
battalion's  thousand  throats  there  broke  a  roar  of  cheers 
that  seemed  to  rock  the  rafters  of  the  station  building. 

Again,  again,  and  yet  again!  As  if  they  could  never 
exhaust  the  burden  of  their  swelling  emotions,  they 
roared  forth  their  cheers,  waving  caps  and  rifles  high  in 
the  air,  while  down  their  cheeks  poured,  unheeded  and 
unhindered,  a  rain  of  tears. 

"Canada!  Canada!  Canada!"  they  cried.  "Oh,  you 
Canadians !  Alberta !  Alberta !" 

Feebly  came  the  answering  cheers,  awkwardly  waved 
the  bandaged  hands  and  arms. 

Then  the  battalion  broke  ranks  and  flinging  rifles  and 
kitbags  to  the  ground,  they  rushed  across  the  tracks, 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  175 

eager  to  bring  their  tribute  of  pride  and  love  to  their 
brothers  from  their  own  country,  far  across  the  sea. 

"Malcolm !  Hello,  Malcolm !"  cried  a  voice  from  a  win- 
dow of  the  train,  as  the  noise  had  somewhat  subsided. 
"Hey,  Malcolm,  here  you  are!"  cried  a  wounded  man, 
raising  himself  from  his  cot  to  the  window. 

Malcolm  Innes  turned,  scanned  the  train,  then  rushed 
across  the  tracks  to  the  window  and  clung  fast  to  it. 

It  was  his  brother,  Ewen. 

"Is  it  yourself,  Ewen,  and  are  you  hurted  bad?"  cried 
the  boy,  all  unconscious  of  his  breaking  voice  and  falling 
tears.  They  clung  together  for  some  little  time  in 
silence. 

"Are  you  much  hurted,  Ewen?  Tell  me  the  God's 
truth,"  again  said  Malcolm. 

"Not  much,"  said  Ewen.  "True  as  death,  I'm  tellin' 
you.  My  arm  is  broke,  that's  all.  We  had  a  bad  time 
of  it,  but,  man,  we  gave  them  hell,  you  bet.  Oh,  it  was 
great !" 

Then  again  the  silence  fell  between  them.  There 
seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say. 

"Here,  stand  back  there!  You  must  get  back,  you 
know,  men!" 

An  N.  C.  O.  of  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  tried  to  push  Malcolm 
back  from  the  window. 

"Here,  you  go  to  hell,"  cried  Malcolm  fiercely.  "It's 
my  brother  I've  got." 

The  N.  C.  O.,  widely  experienced  in  these  tragic  scenes, 
hesitated  a  moment.  An  officer,  coming  up  behind  him, 
with  a  single  glance  took  in  the  situation. 

"My  boy,"  he  said  kindly,  placing  his  hand  on  Mal- 
colm's arm,  "we  want  to  get  these  poor  chaps  as  soon 
as  possible  where  they  will  be  comfortable." 

Malcolm  sprang  back  at  once,  saluting. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "Certainly,  sir."  And  backing 
across  the  tracks,  stood  looking  across  at  the  window 
from  which  his  brother,  wearied  with  his  effort,  had 
disappeared. 


176     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Meantime  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  were  busy  with  their  work. 
With  marvellous  rapidity  and  speed  the  train  was  un- 
loaded  of  its  pathetic  freight,  the  carrying  cases  into 
ambulances  and  the  walking  cases  into  cars  and  wagons. 

"Good-bye,  Mac,"  called  a  voice  as  a  car  was  driving 
off.  It  was  Ewen  again.  The  wounded  man  spoke  to 
the  driver,  who  immediately  pulled  up  and  swung  over 
to  the  platform  where  Malcolm  was  standing. 

"Oh,  are  you  sure,  Ewen,  you  are  goin'  to  be  all 
right?  Man,  you  look  awful  white." 

"All  right,  Mac.  You  bet  I  will.  It's  only  my  arm," 
said  Ewen,  his  brave,  bright  words  in  pathetic  contrast 
to  his  white  face. 

At  this  point  Barry  came  rushing  along. 

"Why,  Ewen!  My  poor  fellow!"  he  cried,  throwing 
his  arm  about  the  wounded  man's  shoulder.  "What  is 
it?" 

"My  arm,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  adding  some  words  in  a 
low  tone.  "But  I'm  all  right,"  he  said  brightly.  "You'll 
write  my  mother,  sir,  and  tell  her?  You'll  know  what 
to  say." 

"Surely  I  will.  You'll  be  all  right,  old  boy,  God  bless 
you!  Good  luck,  Ewen!" 

Then  leaning  over  the  boy,  he  added  in  a  low  voice, 
"Remember  you  are  not  all  alone.  God  is  with  you. 
You  won't  forget  that!" 

"I  won't,  sir.     I  know  it  well,"  said  Ewen  earnestly. 

Most  of  the  stretcher  cases  had  been  hurried  away. 
Only  a  few  of  the  more  seriously  wounded  remained.  As 
Barry  turned  away  from  the  car,  he  saw  the  medical 
officer  and  sergeant  major  approaching  him. 

"A  terrible  business,"  said  Barry,  in  a  horror-stricken 
voice.  "Splendid  chaps.  How  plucky  they  are!" 

The  M.  O.  made  no  reply,  but  coming  close  to  Barry, 
he  put  his  arm  through  his,  the  sergeant  major  taking 
him  by  the  other  arm. 

"I  say,  Barry,  old  chap,"  said  the  M.  O.  in  a  grave 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  177 

voice,  calling  him  for  the  first  time  by  his  first  name. 
"There  is  some  one  here  that  you  know  well." 

"Some  one  I  know,"  said  Barry,  standing  still  and 
looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Ay,  sir.  Some  one  we  all  know  and  greatly  respect,'' 
replied  the  sergeant  major. 

"Not — not — oh,  not  my  father!" 

The  M.  O.  nodded. 

"Bad,  doctor?  Not  dying,  doctor?"  His  face  was 
white  even  in  spite  of  his  tan.  His  hands  closed  about 
the  doctor's  arm  in  a  grip  that  reached  to  the  bone. 

"No,  not  dying,  Barry,  but  in  a  bad  way,  I  fear." 

"Take  me,"  muttered  Barry,  in  a  dazed  way,  and  they 
moved  together  rapidly  across  the  platform. 

"Wait  a  moment,  doctor,"  said  Barry,  breathing  hard. 

They  stood  still,  a  silent  and  sympathetic  group  of 
soldiers  about  them.  Barry  turned  from  them,  walked 
a  few  steps,  his  clasped  hands  writhing  before  him,  then 
stood  with  his  face  uplifted  to  the  sky  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"All  right,  doctor,  I'll  follow,"  he  said,  coming  quietly 
back.  "Will  he  know  me?" 

"Sure  thing,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant  major  cheerily. 
"He  was  asking  for  you." 

On  a  stretcher,  waiting  to  be  lifted  into  the  ambulance, 
he  found  his  father,  lying  white  and  still. 

"Dad !"  cried  Barry,  dropping  to  his  knees  beside  him. 
He  put  his  arms  around  him  on  the  stretcher,  and  kissed 
him  on  both  cheeks  and  on  the  lips.  They  all  drew  back 
from  the  stretcher  and  turned  their  backs  upon  the  two. 

"Barry,  my  boy.  Thank  the  good  God!  I  feared  I 
would  not  see  you.  It's  all  right  now.  Everything  is 
all  right  now.  I  can't  put  my  arms  around  you,  boy.  I 
haven't  any  left." 

Barry's  shudder  shook  the  stretcher. 

"Dad,  dad,  oh,  dad!"  he  whispered,  over  and  over 
again. 

"It's  all  right,"  whispered  his  father.     "We  must  not 


178     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

forget  we're  soldiers.  Help  me  to  keep  up,  boy.  I'm 
not  very  strong." 

That  pitiful  word  did  for  Barry  what  nothing  else 
could  do.  He  lifted  his  head,  stood  up  and  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"Sure  thing,  dad,"  he  said,  in  a  clear,  steady  voice.  "I 
mustn't  keep  you." 

He  motioned  to  the  bearers.  Then  suddenly  recollect- 
ing that  his  duty  would  call  him  away  from  his  father, 
he  turned  to  the  M.  O.,  an  agony  of  supplication  in  his 
voice. 

"Oh,  doctor,  must  I  leave  him  here  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

Just  then  an  orderly  came  running  up  to  him,  and, 
saluting,  said: 

"Sir,  the  Commanding  Officer  says  you  are  to  remain 
behind  with  your  father — till — till ' 

"Until  you  are  sent  for,"  said  the  M.  O.  "I  will  see 
to  that." 

"Where's  the  Commanding  Officer?"  cried  Barry, 
starting  forward. 

"He  has  gone  off  somevvheres,  sir.  He  was  sorry  he 
couldn't  come  himself,  but  he  was  called  away.  He  sent 
that  message  to  you." 

"Doctor,  will  you  remember  to  thank  the  Command- 
ing Officer  for  me?"  he  said  briefly,  and  turned  to  follow 
his  father  into  the  ambulance,  which  he  discovered  to  be 
in  charge  of  his  friend,  the  sergeant  of  the  R.  A.  M.  C. 

At  the  hospital  he  was  received  with  every  mark  of 
solicitous  care.  He  was  made  to  feel  that  he  was  among 
friends. 

"How  long,  doctor?"  he  asked,  after  the  doctor  had 
finished  his  examination. 

"Not  long,  I'm  afraid.  A  few  hours,  perhaps  a  day. 
He  will  not  suffer  though,"  said  the  doctor.  "But,"  he 
added,  taking  Barry  by  the  arm,  "he  is  very  weak,  re- 
member, and  must  not  be  excited." 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  179 

"I  know,  doctor,"  said  Barry,  quietly.  "I  won't  worry 
him." 

Through  the  morning  Barry  sat  by  his  father's  cot, 
giving  him,  under  the  directions  of  the  nurse,  such  stimu- 
lants as  he  needed,  now  and  then  speaking  a  quiet, 
cheery  word. 

Often  his  father  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  at  him. 

"Good  to  see  you  there,  my  boy.  That  was  my  only 
grief.  I  feared  I  might  not  see  you  again.  Thank  the 
good  God  that  he  allowed  me  to  see  you." 

"He  is  good,  dad,  isn't  He  ?  Good  to  me ;  good  to  us 
both." 

"Yes,  He  is  good,"  said  his  father,  and  fell  asleep. 

For  almost  two  hours  he  slept,  a  sleep  of  exhaustion, 
due  to  the  terrific  strain  of  the  past  forty-eight  hours, 
and  woke  refreshed,  calm  and  strong. 

"You  are  a  lot  better,  dad,"  said  Barry.  "I  believe 
you  are  going  to  pull  through,  eh !" 

"A  lot  better,  Barry,"  said  his  father,  "but,  my  boy,  we 
are  soldiers,  you  and  I.  I  shall  not  be  long,  but  remem- 
ber, we  are  soldiers." 

"All  right,  dad.     I'll  try  to  play  the  game." 

"That's  the  word,  Barry.  We  must  play  the  game, 
and  by  God's  grace  we  will,  you  and  I — our  last  game 
together." 

Through  the  afternoon  they  talked,  between  intervals 
of  sleep,  resolved  each  to  help  the  other  in  playing  to 
the  end,  in  the  manner  of  British  soldiers,  that  last,  great 
game. 

They  talked,  of  course,  of  home  and  their  happy  days 
together,  going  far  back  into  the  earlier  years  of  struggle 
on  the  ranch. 

"Hard  days,  Barry,  they  were,  but  your  mother  never 
failed  me.  Wonderful  courage  she  had,  and  if  we  were 
all  right,  you  and  I,  Barry,  she  was  always  happy.  Do 
you  remember  her?" 

"Yes,  dad,  quite  well.  I  remember  her  smiling 
always." 


180     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Smiling,  my  God !  Smiling  through  those  days.  Yes, 
that's  the  way  she  played  the  game,  and  that's  the  only 
way,  boy." 

"Yes,  dad,"  said  Barry,  and  his  smile  was  brighter  than 
ever,  but  his  knuckles  showed  white  where  he  gripped 
the  chair. 

The  nurse  came  and  went,  wondering  at  their  bright 
faces  and  their  cheery  voices.  They  kept  their  minds 
upon  the  old  happy  days.  They  recalled  their  canoe 
trips,  their  hunting  experiences,  dwelling  mostly  upon  the 
humorous  incidents,  playing  the  game.  Of  the  war 
they  spoke  little;  not  at  all  of  what  was  to  be  after — 
the  past,  the  golden,  happy  past,  rich  in  love  and  in 
comradeship,  that  was  their  one  theme. 

As  night  fell,  the  father  grew  weary,  and  his  periods 
of  sleep  grew  longer,  but  ever  as  he  woke  he  found  his 
son's  face  smiling  down  upon  him. 

"Good  boy,  Barry,"  he  said  once,  with  an  understand- 
ing look  and  an  answering  smile.  "Don't  try  too  hard, 
my  boy." 

"It's  all  right,  dad.  I  assure  you  it's  all  right.  You 
know  it  is." 

"I  know,  I  know,  my  boy,"  he  said,  and  fell  asleep 
again. 

As  the  midnight  hour  drew  on,  Barry's  head,  from 
sheer  weariness,  sunk  upon  his  breast.  In  his  sleep  he 
became  aware  of  some  one  near  him.  He  sat  up,  dazed 
and  stupid  from  his  exhaustion  and  his  grief,  and  found 
a  nurse  at  his  side. 

"Take  this,"  she  said  softly.  "You  will  need  it." 
She  set  a  tray  at  his  side. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  no!"  he  said.  "I  can't  eat.  I  can't 
touch  anything." 

"You  need  it,"  said  the  nurse.  "You  must  take  it, 
for  his  sake,  you  know.  He  will  need  you." 

Her  voice  aroused  him.     He  glanced  at  her  face. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  he  cried. 

It  was  the  little  V.  A.  D. 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  181 

"Don't  rise,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  pointing  to  his  father.  "Drink  this  first."  She 
handed  him  an  eggrfog.  "Now  take  your  tea."  There  was 
a  quiet  authority  about  her  that  compelled  obedience. 
He  ate  in  silence  while  she  stood  beside  him.  He  was 
too  weary  and  too  sick  at  heart  to  talk,  but  he  gradually 
became  aware  that  the  overpowering  sense  of  loneliness 
that  had  been  with  him  all  day  was  gone. 

When  he  had  finished  his  slight  meal,  he  whispered  to 
her: 

"I  wish  I  could  thank  you,  but  I  can't.  I  did  need  it. 
You  have  helped  me  greatly." 

"You  are  better  now,"  she  said  softly.  "It's  very, 
very  hard  for  you,  so  far  from  home,  and  from  all 
your  friends." 

"There  is  no  one  else,"  said  Barry  simply.  "We  have 
no  one  but  just  ourselves." 

At  this  point  his  father  opened  his  eyes  bright  and 
very  wide-awake. 

The  V.  A.  D.  began  to  gather  up  the  tea  things.  Barry 
put  out  his  hand  and  touched  her  arm. 

"Dad,  this  is  your  night  nurse.  She  was  very  kind 
to  me  last  night,  and  again  to-night.  This  is  Miss 
Vincent." 

The  brightness  of  the  V.  A.  D.'s  smile  outshone  his 
own. 

"I'm  not  a  real  nurse,"  she  said.  "I'm  only  a  V.  A. 
D.,  you  know.  They  use  me  to  wash  the  floors  and 
dishes,  and  for  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs.  To-night  they  are 
shorthanded,  and  have  put  me  on  this  duty." 

While  she  was  speaking,  she  continued  to  smile,  a  smile 
of  radiant  cheer  and  courage. 

The  wounded  man  listened  gravely  to  her,  his  eyes 
searching  her  face,  her  eyes,  her  very  soul,  it  seemed  to 
her.  In  spite  of  her  experience  and  her  self-control,  she 
felt  her  face  flushing  under  his  searching  gaze. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  at  length,  "I  am  glad  to  meet  you. 
You  are  a  good  and  brave  girl,  I  know."  His  eyes  fell 


182     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

upon  the  black  band  upon  her  arm.  "I  see  you  are  wear- 
ing the  badge  of  heroism.  My  dear,  pardon  me,  you 
have  the  same  look — Barry,  she  has  your  dear  mother's 
look,  not  so  beautiful — you  will  forgive  me,  my  dear-~ 
but  the  same  look.  She  thinks  of  others  and  she  has 
courage  to  suffer.  My  dear,  I  cannot  take  your  hands 
in  mine," — he  glanced  with  a  pathetic  smile  at  his 
bandaged  arms,  but  with  a  swift  movement  of  indescrib- 
able grace  the  girl  stooped  and  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head. 

"Barry,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  son,  "that  was  a  fine 
courtesy.  I  count  it  an  honour  to  have  known  you,  Miss 
Vincent." 

He  paused  a  moment  or  two,  his  searching  eyes  still 
upon  her  face. 

"You  will  befriend  my  boy,  after — after " 

"I  will  try  my  best,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  the  colour  deep- 
ening in  her  cheeks  the  while.  "Good  night,  sir,"  she 
said.  "I  shall  be  near  at  hand  if  I  am  wanted." 

"Barry,"  said  his  father,  after  the  girl  had  gone, 
"that  is  a  very  charming  and  a  very  superior  young  lady, 
one  you  will  be  glad  to  know." 

"Yes,  dad,  I  am  sure  she  is,"  said  Barry,  and  then  he 
told  his  father  of  the  events  of  the  previous  night. 

For  some  moments  after  he  had  finished  his  father 
lay  with  his  eyes  shut,  and  quite  still,  and  Barry,  thinking 
he  slept,  sat  watching,  his  eyes  intent  upon  the  face  he 
loved  best  in  all  the  world. 

But  his  father  was  not  asleep. 

"Yes,  Barry,"  he  said,  "she  is  like  your  dear  mother, 
and  now,"  he  added  hurriedly,  "I  hope  you  will  not 
think  I  am  taking  a  liberty " 

"Oh,  dad,  I  implore  you !"  said  Barry. 

"Barry,  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you  about  your  work." 

Barry  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"I'm  not  much  good,  dad,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  not  going 
to  quit,"  he  added  quickly,  noting  a  shadow  on  his 
father's  face. 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  183 

"Barry,  I'm  going  to  say  something  to  you  which  I  do 
hope  will  not  hurt  you.  I  know  the  common  soldier  bet- 
ter than  you  do,  boy.  Our  Canadian  soldiers  do  not  like 
to  be  rebuked,  criticised  or  even  watched  too  closely. 
Forgive  me  this,  my  boy." 

"Oh,  dad,  please  tell  me  all  that  is  in  your  heart!" 

"Thank  you,  Barry.  They  don't  like  the  chaplain  to  be 
a  censor  over  their  words." 

"I  loathe  it,"  said  Barry  passionately. 

"Believe  me,  they  are  good  chaps  in  their  hearts. 
They  swear  and  all  that,  but  that  is  merely  a  habit  or  a 
mere  expression  of  high  emotion.  You  ought  to  hear 
them  as  they  'go  over.'  Barry,  let  all  that  pass  and  re- 
member that  these  boys  are  giving  their  lives — their 
lives,  Barry,  for  right,  for  conscience,  and  ultimately, 
though  it  may  be  unconsciously,  for  God.  Barry,  a  man 
that  is  giving  his  life  for  God  may  say  what  he  likes. 
Don't  be  too  hard  on  them,  but  recall  to  mind,  Barry, 
that  when  they  go  up  the  line  they  feel  terribly  lonely 
and  terribly  afraid,  and  that  is  a  truly  awful  expe- 
rience." 

He  paused  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  lowered  his 
voice  and  continued:  "Barry,  you  won't  be  ashamed  of 
me.  I  was  terribly  afraid,  myself." 

Bar  y  choked  back  a  convulsive  sob. 

"You,  dad,  you !"     He  laughed  scornfully. 

"I  didn't  run,  Barry,  thank  God!  But  the  boys — my 
boys — they  are  only  lads,  many  of  them — lonely  and 
afraid — and  they  must  go  on.  They  must  go  on.  Oh, 
Barry,  in  that  hour  they  need  some  one  to  go  with  them. 
They  need  God." 

His  son  was  listening  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes.  He 
was  getting  a  new  view  of  the  soldier  and  of  the  sol- 
dier's needs. 

"Unhappily,"  continued  his  father,  "God  is  at  best  a 
shadowy  being,  to  many  of  them  a  stranger,  to  some  a 
terror.  Barry,"  he  said,  "they  need  some  one  to  tell 
them  the  truth  about  God.  It's  not  fair  to  God,  you 


184     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

know."  Here  again  his  father  paused  and  then  said  very 
humbly:  "I  think  I  may  say,  Barry,  I  know  God  now, 
as  I  did  not  before.  And  you  helped  me,  boy,  to  know 
him." 

"Oh,  dad,"  cried  Barry,  passionately.  "Not  I !  I  don't 
know  Him  at  all !" 

"Let  me  tell  you  how  you  helped  me,  Barry.  Before 
I  went  up  the  last  time,  I  wanted 

He  paused  abruptly,  his  face  working  and  his  lip 
quivering. 

"Forgive  me,  my  boy.     I'm  a  little  weak." 

A  few  moments  of  silence  and  then  he  continued 
quietly : 

"I  wanted  you,  Barry." 

The  boy's  hands  were  writhing  under  his  knees,  but 
his  face  and  eyes  were  quite  steady. 

"I  was  terribly  lonely.  I  thought  of  that  strange,  dear 
bond  that  held  us  together,  and  then  like  a  flash  out  of 
the  sky  came  those  great  words :  'Like  as  a  father  pitieth 
his  children,'  and  oh,  boy,  boy!  It  came  to  me  then 
that  as  I  feel  toward  my  boy  God  feels  toward  me.  Barry, 

listen "  His  voice  fell  to  a  whisper.  "I  am  God's 

son,  as  you  are  mine.  There  was  no  more  fear,  and  I 
was  not  nearly  so  lonely.  Tell  the  boys — tell  the  b  ys 
the  truth  about  God." 

He  lay  a  long  time  silent,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  as 
Barry  watched  he  saw  two  tears  fall  down  the  white 
cheeks.  It  was  to  him  a  terrible  sight.  Never,  not  even 
at  his  mother's  grave,  had  he  seen  his  father's  tears.  It 
was  more  than  he  could  endure.  He  put  his  face  down 
beside  his  father's  on  the  pillow. 

"Dad,  I  understand,"  he  whispered.  "I  know  now 
what  God  is  like.  He  is  like  you,  dad.  He  gave  him- 
self for  us,  as  you,  dad,  have  given  yourself  all  these 
years  for  me." 

He  was  sobbing,  but  very  quietly. 

"Forgive  me,  dad;  I'm  not  crying.     I'm  just  thinking 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  185 

about  God  and  you.  Oh,  dad,  you  are  both  wonderful ! 
Wonderful!" 

"Barry,  my  boy,  tell  them.  Don't  worry  yourself 
about  them.  Just  tell  them  about  God.  He  is  responsi- 
ble for  them,  not  you." 

"Oh,  I  will,  dad;  I  promise  you  I  will.  I've  been  all 
wrong,  but  I'll  tell  them.  I'll  tell  them." 

"Thank  God,  my  boy,"  said  his  father,  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "Now  I'm  tired.  Say  'Our  Father.' ' 

Together  they  whispered  those  greatest  of  words  in 
human  speech,  those  words  that  have  bound  heaven  to 
earth  in  yearning  and  in  hope  for  these  two  thousand 
years. 

"Don't  move,  Barry,"  whispered  his  father.  "I  like 
you  there." 

With  their  faces  thus  together  they  fell  asleep. 

Barry  was  awakened  by  his  father's  voice,  clear  and 
strong. 

"Are  you  there,  Barry?"  it  said. 

"Here,  dad,  right  here!" 

"Good  boy.  Good  boy.  You  won't  leave  me,  Barry. 
I  mean  you  don't  need  to  go?" 

"No,  dad,  I'll  never  leave  you." 

"Good  boy,"  again  murmured  his  father  softly.  "Al- 
ways a  good  boy,  always,  always " 

He  was  breathing  heavily,  long  deep  breaths. 

"Lift  me  up,  Barry,"  he  said. 

Barry  sat  on  the  bed,  put  his  arm  around  his  father's 
shoulders,  and  lifted  him  up. 

"That's  better — hold  me  closer,  Barry You  won't 

hurt  me Oh,  it's  good — to  feel — your  arms — strong 

arms — Barry." 

"You  made  them  strong,  dad,"  said  Barry,  in  a  clear, 
steady  voice. 

The  father  nestled  his  head  upon  his  son's  shoulder. 

"Barry,"  he  said  in  the  low  tone  of  one  giving  a  con- 
fidence, "don't  ever  forget — to  thank  God — for  these 


186     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

eighteen    years — together You    saved    me — from 

despair — eighteen  years  ago — when  she  went  away — you 
know — and  you  have  been — all  the  world  to  me — my 
son " 

"And  you  to  me,  dad,"  said  his  son  in  the  same  steady 
tone. 

"I've  tried  all  my  life — to  make  you  know — how  I 
love  you — but  somehow  I  couldn't " 

"But  I  knew,  dad,"  said  Barry.  "All  my  life  I  have 
known." 

"Really?"    asked    his    father.     "I — wonder — I    don't 

think — you  quite  know Ah — my  boy — my  boy 

You  don't — know — you — can't.  Barry,"  he  said,  "I 
think — I'm  going  out — I'm  going — out — no,  in — your 
word — my  boy — in — eh — Barry  ?" 

"Yes,  dad,"  said  his  son.  "Going  in.  The  inner  cir- 
cle, you  know." 

"The — inner — circle "  echoed  his  father.  "Warmth 

— light — love Now — I  think — I'll  sleep Good 

night — Barry Oh — my  boy, — you — don't  quite — 

know Kiss  me — Barry " 

Barry  kissed  him  on  the  lips. 

"So Good— night " 

A  deep  breath  he  took;  another — Barry  waited  for 
the  next,  but  there  was  not  another. 

He  laid  his  father  down  and  looked  into  his  quiet 
face,  touched  even  now  with  the  noble  stateliness  of 
death.  He  put  his  arms  about  the  unresponsive  form, 
and  his  face  to  the  cheek  still  warm. 

"Dad,  oh,  dad,"  he  whispered.     "Do  you  know 

Do  you  know Oh,  God,  tell  him  how  I  love  him. 

Tell  him!     Tell  him!     I  never  could." 

The  little  V.  A.  D.  came  softly  and  stood  looking  from 
a  distance.  Then  coming  to  the  bedside,  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  head  and  then  the  heart  of  the  dead  man. 
Then  she  drew  back,  and  beckoning  to  an  orderly,  they 
placed  a  screen  about  the  cot.  She  let  her  eyes  rest  for 


THE  NEW  MESSAGE  187 

a  moment  or  two  upon  the  kneeling  boy,  then  went  softly 
away. 

Death  was  to  her  an  all  too  familiar  thing.  She  had 
often  seen  it  unmoved,  but  to-night,  as  she  walked  away, 
the  brown  eyes  could  not  hold  their  tears. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    MAN    OF    GOD 

BARRY  was  standing  beside  his  father's  grave,  in  a 
little  plot  in  the  Boulogne  cemetery  set  apart  for 
British  officers.  They  had,  one  by  one,  gone  away  and 
left  him  until,  alone,  he  stood  looking  down  on  the  simple 
wooden  cross  on  which  were  recorded  the  name,  age,  and 
unit  of  the  soldier  with  the  date  of  his  death,  and  under- 
neath the  simple  legend,  eloquent  of  heroic  sacrifice, 
"Died  of  wounds  received  in  action." 

Throughout  the  simple,  beautiful  burial  service  he  had 
not  been  acutely  conscious  of  grief.  Even  now  he  won- 
dered that  he  could  shed  no  tears.  Rather  did  an  ex- 
ultant emotion  fill  his  soul  as  he  looked  around  upon 
the  little  British  plot,  with  its  rows  of  crosses,  and  he 
was  chiefly  conscious  of  a  solemn,  tender  pride  that  he 
was  permitted  to  share  that  glorious  offering  which  his 
Empire  was  making  for  the  saving  of  the  world.  But, 
in  this  moment,  as  he  stood  there  alone  close  to  his 
father's  grave,  and  surrounded  by  those  examples  of  high 
courage  and  devotion,  he  became  aware  of  a  mighty 
change  wrought  in  him  during  these  last  three  days.  He 
had  experienced  a  veritable  emancipation  of  soul.  He 
was  as  if  he  had  been  born  anew. 

The  old  sense  of  failure  in  his  work,  the  feeling  of 
unfitness  for  it,  and  the  old  dread  of  it,  had  been  lifted 
out  of  his  soul,  and  not  only  was  he  a  new  man,  but 
he  felt  himself  to  be  charged  with  a  new  mission,  because 
he  had  a  new  message  for  his  men.  No  longer  did  he 
conceive  himself  as  a  moral  policeman  or  religious  censor, 
whose  main  duty  it  was  to  stand  in  judgment  over  the 
faults  and  sins  of  the  men  of  his  battalion.  No  more 

1 88 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  189 

would  the  burden  of  his  message  be  a  stern  denunciation 
of  these  faults  and  sins.  Standing  there  to-day,  he  could 
only  wonder  at  his  former  blindness  and  stupidity  and 
pride. 

"Who  am  I,"  he  said  in  bitter  self-humiliation,  "that 
I  should  judge  my  comrades?  How  little  I  knew  my- 
self." 

"A  man  of  God,"  his  superintendent  had  said  in  his 
last  letter  to  him.  Yes,  truly  a  man  of  God!  A  man 
not  God !  A  man  not  to  sit  in  God's  place  in  judgment 
upon  his  fellow  sinners,  but  to  show  them  God,  their 
Father. 

Barry  thought  of  the  frequent  rebukes  he  had  admin- 
istered to  the  officers  and  men  for  what  he  considered 
to  be  their  sins.  He  groaned  aloud. 

"God  will  forgive  me,  I  know,"  he  said.  "But  will 
they?" 

He  tried  to  recall  what  the  burden  of  his  message  to 
his  battalion  had  been  during  these  past  months,  but  to 
him  there  came  no  clear  and  distinct  memory  of  aught 
but  warnings  and  denunciations,  with  reference  to  what 
he  judged  to  be  faulty  in  their  conduct.  To-day  it 
seemed  to  him  both  sad  and  ternble. 

How  had  he  so  failed  and  so  nisconceived  the  Mas- 
ter's plain  teaching?  He  moved  among  sinners  all  His 
days,  not  with  denunciations  in  His  heart  or  voice,  but 
only  with  pity  and  love. 

"Be  not  anxious,"  He  had  said.  "Consider  the  birds 
of  the  air.  Not  one  of  them  falleth  to  the  ground  with- 
out your  Father.  How  much  more  precious  are  you  than 
the  birds." 

What  a  message  for  men  going  up  to  face  the  terrors 
and  perils  of  the  front  line.  "Be  not  anxious!" 

"I  was  afraid,"  his  father  had  said  to  him.  That 
to  him  was  inconceivable.  That  that  gallant  spirit  should 
know  terror  seemed  to  him  impossible.  Yet  even  he  had 
said,  "I  was  afraid."  And  for  the  loneliness,  what  a 
message  he  now  had.  In  their  loneliness  men  cried  out 


190     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

for  the  presence  of  a  friend,  and  the  Master  had  said: 
"When  ye  pray,  pray  to  your  Father.  Your  Father 
knoweth.  When  ye  pray,  say,  'Our  Father'!"  And  he 
had  missed  all  this.  What  a  mess  he  had  made  of  his 
work!  How  sadly  misread  his  Master's  teaching  and 
misinterpreted  his  Master's  spirit! 

Barry  looked  down  upon  the  grave  at  his  feet. 

"But  you  knew,  dad,  you  knew!"  he  whispered. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  become  a  chaplain,  he 
thought  of  his  work  with  gratitude  and  eagerness.  He 
longed  to  see  his  men  again.  He  had  something  to  tell 
them.  It  was  this:  that  God  to  them  was  like  their 
fathers,  their  mothers,  their  brothers,  their  friends;  only 
infinitely  more  loving,  and  without  their  faults. 

With  his  head  high  and  his  feet  light  upon  the  earth, 
he  returned  to  the  R.A.M.C.  Hospital,  where  he  found 
Harry  Hobbs,  with  his  handbag  and  a  letter  from  his 
O.C. 

"Take  a  few  days  off,"  said  the  O.C.  "We  all  sym- 
pathise with  you.  We  miss  you  and  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you,  but  take  a  few  days  now  for  yourself." 

Barry  was  greatly  touched,  but  he  had  only  one  desire 
now,  and  that  was  to  return  to  his  unit.  His  batman 
brought  him  also  an  order  from  the  Assistant  Director 
of  Chaplain  Service,  bidding  him  report  at  the  earliest 
moment. 

At  Headquarters  he  learned  that  the  A.D.C.S.  had 
been  in  Boulogne,  but  had  gone  to  Etaples,  some  thirty 
or  forty  miles  distant,  to  visit  the  large  hospitals  there. 
He  determined  that  to-morrow  he  would  go  to  Etaples 
and  report,  after  which  he  would  proceed  to  his  battalion. 

That  evening,  he  visited  the  men  in  the  hospital,  com- 
ing upon  many  Canadians  whose  joy  in  seeing  a  chaplain 
from  their  own  country  touched  Barry  to  the  heart.  He 
took  their  messages  which  he  promised  to  transmit  to 
their  folks  at  home,  and  left  with  them  something  of  the 
serene  and  exultant  peace  that  filled  his  own  soul. 

From  Ewen  Innes  and  others  of  the  Wapiti  draft,  he 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  191 

learned  something  of  his  father's  work  and  place  in  their 
battalion.  Soldiers  are  not  eloquent  in  speech,  but  mostly 
in  silence.  Their  words  halted  when  they  came  to  speak 
of  their  sergeant  major's  soldierly  qualities, — for  his 
father  had  become  the  sergeant  major  of  the  battalion 
— his  patience,  his  skill,  his  courage. 

"He  knew  his  job,  sir,"  said  one  of  them.  "He  was 
always  onto  it." 

"It  was  his  care  of  his  men  that  we  thought  most  of," 
said  Ewen,  who  continued  to  relate  incidents  that  had 
come  under  his  own  observation  of  this  characteristic, 
tears  the  while  flowing  down  his  cheeks. 

"He  never  thought  of  himself,  sir.  It  was  our  com- 
fort first.  He  was  far  more  than  our  sergeant  major. 
He  watched  us  like  a  father;  that's  what  he  did." 

As  Barry  listened  to  the  soldiers  telling  of  his  father 
in  broken  words,  and  with  flowing  tears,  he  almost  won- 
dered at  them  for  their  tears  and  wondered  at  himself 
that  he  had  none.  Tears  seemed  to  be  so  much  out  of 
place  in  telling  such  a  tale  as  that. 

The  train  for  Etaples  leaving  at  an  unearthly  hour  in 
the  morning,  Barry  went  to  take  farewell  of  the  V.A.D. 
the  night  before. 

"That  is  an  awfully  early  hour,"  she  said,  "and,  oh, 
such  a  wretched  train."  There  was  in  her  voice  an  al- 
most maternal  solicitude  for  his  comfort. 

"That's  nothing,"  said  Barry.  "When  I  see  you  here 
at  your  unending  work,  it  makes  me  feel  more  and  more 
like  a  slacker." 

"Wait  for  me  here  a  moment,"  she  said,  and  hurried 
away  to  return  shortly  in  such  a  glow  of  excitement  as 
even  her  wonted  calm  and  self-restraint  could  not  quite 
hide. 

"I'm  going  to  drive  you  to  Etaples  to-morrow  in  my 
car.  I  know  the  matron  and  some  of  the  nurses  in  the 
American  hospital  there." 

"You  don't  mean  it,"  said  Barry,  "but  are  you  sure 
it's  not  a  terrible  bore  for  you?  I  am  much  afraid  that 


192     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

I  have  been  a  nuisance  to  you,  and  you  have  been  so  very, 
very  good  to  me." 

"A  bore!"  she  cried,  and  the  brown  eyes  were  wide 
open  in  surprise.  "A  bore,  and  you  a  Canadian!  Why, 
you  are  one  of  my  brothers'  friends,  and  besides  you  seem 
to  me  a  friend  of  our  family.  My  uncle  Howard,  you 
know,  told  me  all  about  you.  Besides,"  she  added  in  a 
voice  of  great  gentleness,  ''you  remember,  I  promised." 

Barry  caught  her  hand. 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  all  I  feel  about  it,  but  some- 
how I  can't  get  the  words." 

She  allowed  her  hand  to  remain  in  his  for  a  moment 
or  two ;  then  withdrawing  it,  said  hurriedly,  with  a  slight 
colour  showing  in  her  cheeks : 

"I  think  I  understand."  Then  changing  her  tone  ab- 
ruptly, and  dropping  into  the  business-like  manner  of  a 
V.A.D.,  she  said,  "So,  we'll  go  to-morrow.  It  will  be 
a  splendid  run,  if  the  day  is  fine.  We  had  better  start 
by  nine  o'clock  to  give  us  a  long  day."  Then,  as  if  for- 
getting she  was  a  V.A.D.,  she  added  with  a  little  catch 
in  her  voice,  "Oh,  I  shall  love  it!" 

The  day  proved  to  be  fine, — one  of  those  golden  days 
of  spring  that  have  given  to  the  land  its  name  of  "sunny 
France."  It  was  a  day  for  life  and  youth  and  hope.  A 
day  on  which  war  seemed  more  than  ever  a  cruel  out- 
rage upon  humanity.  But  across  the  sunniest  days, 
across  the  shining  face  of  France,  and  across  their  spirits, 
too,  the  war  cast  its  black  shadow.  They  both,  however, 
seemed  to  have  resolved  that  for  that  day  at  least  they 
would  turn  their  eyes  from  that  shadow  and  let  them 
rest  only  where  the  sun  was  shining. 

The  V.A.D.  with  her  mind  intent  upon  her  wheel 
could  only  contribute,  as  her  share  in  the  conversation, 
descriptive  and  somewhat  desultory  comments  upon 
points  of  interest  along  the  way.  Barry,  because  it  har- 
monised with  his  mood,  talked  about  his  father  and  all 
their  years  together  but  ever  without  obtrusion  of  his 
grief.  The  experiences  of  the  past  three  days,  which 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  193 

they  had  shared,  seemed  to  have  established  between  them 
a  sense  of  mutual  confidence  and  comradeship  such  as  in 
ordinary  circumstances  would  have  demanded  years  of 
companionship  to  effect.  This  sense  of  sympathy  and  of 
perfect  understanding  on  the  part  of  the  girl  at  his  side, 
together  with  the  fascinating  charm  of  her  beauty,  and 
her  sweetness,  was  to  Barry's  stricken  heart  like  a  heal- 
ing balm  to  an  aching  wound. 

They  were  in  sight  of  Etaples  before  Barry  imagined 
they  could  have  made  more  than  half  the  journey. 

"Etaples,  so  soon!    It  cannot  be!" 

"But  it  is,"  said  the  girl,  throwing  a  bright  smile  at 
him,  "and  that's  the  hospital,  on  the  hill  yonder,  where 
the  flag  is  flying." 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Barry,  "that's  the  American  flag! 
What's  the  American  flag  doing  there?" 

"It's  flying  over  an  American  hospital,"  said  the 
V.A.D.  "I  think  it's  such  a  beautiful  flag.  In  the  breeze, 
it  seems  to  me  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  flags.  The 
stripes  seem  to  flow  out  from  the  stars.  Of  course," 
she  added  hurriedly,  "the  Union  Jack  with  dl  its  his- 
toric meaning  and  its  mingled  crosses,  is  splendidly  glori- 
ous and  is  more  decorative,  but  I  always  think,  when  I 
see  those  floating  stripes,  that  the  Americans  have  the 
most  beautiful  flag." 

"I  admit,"  said  Barry,  "it's  a  beautiful  flag,  but — well, 
I'm  a  Britisher,  I  suppose,  and  see  it  with  British  eyes. 
But  why  is  that  flag  flying  here  in  France  ?  How  do  the 
authorities  allow  that?  It's  a  neutral  flag — awfully  neu- 
tral, too." 

"I  understand  they  have  permission  from  the  French 
authorities  to  fly  that  flag  over  every  American  institu- 
tion in  France.  And  you  know,"  continued  the  girl  with 
rising  enthusiasm,  "if  they  are  neutral,  they  have  im- 
mensely helped  us,  too,  haven't  they? — in  munitions  and 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"That's  true  enough,"  agreed  Barry,  "and  it's  all  the 
more  wonderful  when  you  think  of  the  millions  of  Ger- 


194     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

mans  that  they  have  in  their  country.  I  heard  a  very 
fine  thing,  not  long  ago,  from  a  friend  of  mine.  A  Pitts- 
burgh oil  man  about  to  close  a  deal,  with  a  traveller,  with 
millions  in  it,  suddenly  discovered  that  his  oil  was  to  go 
to  the  Germans.  At  once  the  deal  was  off,  and,  though 
the  price  was  considerably  raised,  there  was,  in  his  own 
words,  'Nothing  doing!'  'No  stuff  of  mine,'  he  said, 
'shall  go  to  help  an  enemy  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.' 
That's  the  way  I  believe  the  real  Americans  feel." 

'This  is  a  wonderful  hospital,"  said  the  V.A.D. 
"Whenever  I  see  it,  I  somehow  feel  my  heart  grow  warm 
to  the  American  people  for  the  splendid  way  in  which 
they  have  helped  poor  France,  for,  you  know,  in  the  first 
months  of  the  war,  the  French  hospitals  were  perfectly 
ghastly." 

"I  know,  I  know !"  cried  Barry.  "And  the  Canadians, 
too,  have  chipped  in  a  bit.  We  have  a  Canadian  hospital 
in  Paris,  for  the  French,  and  others  are  being  organised." 

They  turned  in  at  the  gate  and  found  themselves  in  a 
beautiful  quadrangle,  set  out  with  grass  plots  and  flow- 
ers and  cement  walks.  The  building  itself,  an  ancient 
royal  palace,  had  been  enlarged  by  means  of  sun-parlours 
and  porches  which  gave  it  an  air  of  wonderful  cheeri- 
ness  and  brightness. 

"I  will  run  in  and  see  if  any  of  my  friends  are  about," 
said  the  V.A.D.  "Wait  here  for  me.  Unless  you  care 
to  come  in,"  she  added. 

"No,  I  will  wait  here.  I  don't  just  feel  like  meeting 
strangers  but,  if  there  are  Canadians  in  the  hospital,  I 
should  like  to  see  them.  And  perhaps  you  can  discover 
where  my  chief  can  be  found,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Hardly  had  she  passed  within  the  door,  when  another 
car  came  swiftly  to  the  gate  and  drew  up  a  little  in  front 
of  Barry's.  A  girl  leaped  from  the  wheel  and  with  a 
spring  in  her  step,  which  spoke  of  a  bounding  vitality, 
ran  up  the  steps. 

What  thought  caught  her  it  is  difficult  to  say,  but  on 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  195 

the  topmost  step  she  spun  around  and  looked  straight  into 
Barry's  eyes. 

"Paula!"  he  shouted,  and  was  out  of  the  car  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps,  with  hand  outstretched,  when,  with 
a  single  touch  of  her  foot  to  the  steps,  she  was  at  him, 
with  both  hands  reaching  for  his. 

"Barry,  oh,  Barry!  It  can't  be  you!"  she  panted.  Her 
face  went  red,  then  white,  then  red  again.  "Oh,  it's  bet- 
ter than  a  drink  to  see  you.  Whence,  how,  why,  whither  ? 
Oh,  never  mind  answering,"  she  went  on.  "It's  enough 
to  see  you." 

A  step  behind  her  diverted  her  attention  from  Barry. 
Barry  ran  up  the  steps,  and  taking  the  V.A.D.  by  the 
hand,  led  her  down. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  a  friend  of  mine,"  he  said  and 
introduced  Paula. 

Paula's  eyes,  keen  as  a  knife-point,  were  upon  the 
V.A.D.'s  face. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,"  she  said  frankly,  offering  her 
hand.  "Principally,"  she  added,  with  a  little  laugh,  "be- 
cause you  know  Barry." 

The  V.A.D.  bowed  with  the  slight  reserve  character- 
istic of  her,  and  took  Paula's  hand. 

"I,  too,  am  pleased,"  she  said,  "to  meet  a  friend  of 
Captain  Dunbar."  Then  she  added  with  increased  cor- 
diality, "and  I'm  glad  to  meet  an  American  in  France. 
I  know  your  matron,  and  some  of  the  nurses." 

"Good !"  cried  Paula.  "Now,  then,  you'll  both  of  you 
take  lunch  with  me." 

The  V.A.D.  demurred. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  cried  Paula.  "Oh,  Barry,  I'm 
just  ready  to  die  from  seeing  you  again.  Come  along !" 
she  cried,  impulsively,  catching  the  V.A.D.  by  the  arm. 
"Come  along  and  park  your  buzzwagon  here  beside 
mine." 

She  ran  to  her  car,  sprang  in  and  whirled  it  into  place 
before  the  V.A.D.  had  hers  well  started. 

Barry  waited  where  they  had  left  him.     The  sudden 


196     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

appearing  of  Paula  had  stirred  within  him  depths  of  feel- 
ing that  almost  overpowered  him.  His  mind  was  far 
away  in  Athabasca,  once  more  he  was  seeing  the  dark 
pool,  the  swiftly  flowing  water,  the  campfire,  and  his 
father  bending  over  it.  His  heart  was  quivering  as  if  a 
hand  had  been  rudely  thrust  into  a  raw  wound  in  it. 

The  V.A.D.  held  Paula  a  few  moments  beside  her  car, 
speaking  quickly  and  earnestly.  When  they  rejoined 
Barry,  Paula's  eyes  were  soft  with  unshed  tears,  and  her 
voice  was  very  gentle. 

"I  know,  Barry,"  she  said.  "Miss  Vincent  just  told 
me.  Oh,  what  terrible  changes  this  war  brings  to  us  all. 
We  see  so  many  sad  things  here  every  day.  It's  terribly 
sad  for  you,  Barry." 

"Yes,  it  is  sad,  Paula,  and  it  is  going  to  be  lonely. 
You  have  brought  back  to  me  that  bright  day  on  the 
Athabasca.  But,"  he  added  earnestly,  "after  all,  in  this 
war  everything  personal  is  so  small.  Besides,  he  was  so 
splendid,  you  know,  and  the  boys  told  me  he  played  the 
game  up  there  right  to  the  end.  So  I'm  not  going  to 
shame  him ;  at  least,  I'm  trying  not  to." 

But  bright  as  was  Barry's  smile,  Paula  caught  the 
quivering  of  his  lips,  and  turned  quickly  away  from  him. 

After  a  moment  or  two  of  silence,  she  cried,  with 
her  old  impulsiveness,  "Now  you  will  both  lunch  with 
me.  I'm  the  quartermaster  of  this  outfit,  and  have  a 
small  parlour  of  my  own.  We  shall  have  a  lovely,  cosy 
time,  just  Miss  Vincent,  you  and  myself  together." 

"But,"  replied  the  V.A.D.,  "I  have  just  arranged  with 
the  matron  to  lunch  with  her." 

"Oh,  rubbish !  I'll  cut  that  out,  all  right.  What's  the 
use  of  being  quartermaster  if  I  can't  arrange  a  lunch 
party  to  suit  myself?" 

Still  the  V.A.D.  demurred.  With  her,  breaking  an  en- 
gagement for  lunch  was  a  serious  affair — was  indeed  tak- 
ing a  liberty  which  no  English  girl  would  think  of  doing. 

"Oh,  that's  nonsense !"  cried  Paula.  "I'll  make  it  per- 
fectly all  right.  Look  here,"  she  cried,  wheeling  upon 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  19Y 

the  V.A.D.,  "you  Britishers  are  so  terribly  correct.  I'll 
show  you  a  little  shirtsleeve  diplomacy.  Besides,  if  you 
don't  come  in  on  this  you  can  have  the  matron,  and  I'll 
take  Barry,"  she  said  with  a  threatening  smile.  "Watch 
me !"  she  added,  as  she  ran  away. 

"What  a  splendid  girl!"  said  the  V.A.D.  "And  that 
captivating  American  way  she  has.  Perfectly  ripping, 
I  call  it.  I  do  hope  we  shall  be  friends." 

In  a  short  time  Paula  came  rushing  back  into  the  room, 
announcing  triumphantly  that  arrangements  had  been 
made  according  to  her  programme,  with  the  matron  in 
hearty  accord. 

"And  she  sends  her  love,"  she  said  to  the  V.A.D.  "She 
would  not  have  you  on  any  account  miss  this  party.  She 
is  desperately  grieved  that  she  cannot  accept  my  invita- 
tion to  join  us.  Of  course,  I  knew  the  old  dear  couldn't. 
And  we  are  to  meet  her  afterwards." 

The  little  lunch  party  was,  on  the  whole,  a  success. 
To  the  conversation  Paula  contributed  the  larger  part, 
Barry  doing  his  best  to  second  her.  But  in  spite  of  his 
heroic  efforts,  his  mind  would  escape  him,  far  away  to 
the  sunny  Athabasca  plains,  and  the  gleaming  river  and 
the  smooth  slipping  canoe,  and  then  with  swift  transition 
to  the  little  British  plot  in  the  cemetery  at  Boulogne. 

At  such  times,  Paula,  reading  his  face,  would  momen- 
tarily falter  in  her  gay  talk,  only  to  begin  again  with  re- 
newed vivacity.  On  one  topic,  however,  she  had  no 
difficulty  in  holding  Barry's  attention.  It  was  when  she 
told  of  the  organising  and  Despatching  of  the  American 
Red  Cross  units  to  France,  and  more  especially  of  her 
own  unit,  organised  and  financed  by  her  father. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry  he  is  not  here  to-day.  He  would 
have  loved  to  have  seen  you  again,  Barry." 

"And  I  to  have  seen  him,"  said  Barry.  "He  is  a  big 
man,  and  it  is  fine  of  him  to  do  this  thing.  It's  just  like 
the  big,  generous-hearted  Americans — they  are  so  un- 
stinted in  their  sympathies,  and  they  back  them  up  for  all 
they  are  worth." 


198     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"And  how  efficient  they  are,"  added  the  V.A.D.  in 
warm  admiration.  "This  hospital,  you  know,"  turning 
to  Barry,  "is  perfectly  wonderful.  Its  equipment!  Its 
appliances!  I  have  often  heard  our  O.C.  speak  in  the 
most  rapturous  envy  of  the  Etaples  American  Red  Cross 
unit." 

"And  why  should  not  it  be  ?"  cried  Paula.  "It's  a  ques- 
tion of  money  after  all.  We  are  not1  at  war.  We  put 
in  a  few  little  hospitals  here  in  France.  We  have  more 
money  thrown  at  us  than  we  can  use.  And  you  talk  about 
efficiency,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  V.A.D.  "Good 
Lord !  My  pater  has  just  come  back  from  London,  where 
he  was  rubbering  around  with  lords  and  dukes  and  things 
in  a  disgustingly  un-American  way  I  told  him,  and  now 
he  raves  from  morning  until  night  over  the  efficiency  of 
the  British.  He's  been  allowed  to  see  some  of  their  mu- 
nition works,  you  know.  I  simply  had  to  declaim  the 
American  Declaration  of  Independence  to  him  three  times 
a  day  to  revive  his  drooping  Democratic  sentiments,  and 
I  had  to  sew  Old  Glory  on  to  his  pajamas  so  that  he 
might  dream  proper  American  dreams.  No,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,"  here  Paula's  voice  took  a  deeper  note,  "every 
last  American  of  us  here  in  France  is  hot  with  humilia- 
tion and  rage  at  his  country's  attitude, — monkeying  with 
those  baby-killing,  woman-raping  devils." 

As  she  ended,  her  voice  shook  with  passion,  her  cheeks 
were  pale,  and  in  her  eyes  shone  two  bright  tears.  Im- 
pulsively the  V.A.D.  rose  from  her  place,  ran  around  to 
Paula,  and  putting  her  arm  around  her  neck,  said: 

"Oh,  I  do  thank  you,  and  I  love  you  for  your  words," 
while  Barry  stood  at  attention,  as  if  in  the  presence  of 
his  superior  officer.  "I  salute  you,"  he  said  with  grave 
earnestness.  "You  worthily  represent  your  brave  and 
generous  people." 

"Oh,  darn  it  all!"  cried  Paula,  brushing  away  her 
tears.  "I'm  a  fool,  but  you  don't  know  how  we  Ameri- 
cans feel — real  Americans,  I  mean,  not  the  yellow  hy- 
phenated breed." 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  199 

After  lunch,  Barry  went  to  look  up  his  chief,  the  as- 
sistant director  of  chaplain  service,  while  Paula  took 
charge  of  the  V.A.D.,  saying: 

"Run  away,  Barry,  and  see  your  Brass  Hat.  I'll  show 
Miss  Vincent  how  a  quartermaster's  department  of  a 
real  hospital  should  be  run." 

His  hour  with  the  A.D.C.S.  was  a  most  stimulating  ex- 
perience for  Barry.  He  found  himself  at  once  in  touch 
with  not  an  official  thinking  in  terms  of  military  reg- 
ulations and  etiquette,  but  a  soldier  and  a  man.  For 
the  A.D.C.S.  was  both.  Through  all  the  terrible  days 
at  Ypres,  where  the  Canadians,  in  that  welter  of  gas  and 
fire  and  blood,  had  won  their  imperishable  fame  as  fight- 
ing men,  he  had  been  with  them,  sharing  their  dangers 
and  ministering  to  their  wants  with  his  brother  officers 
of  the  fighting  line.  Physically  an  unimpressive  figure, 
small  and  slight,  yet  he  seemed  charged  with  concentrated 
energy  waiting  release. 

As  Barry  listened  to  his  words  coming  forth  in  snappy, 
jerking  phrases,  he  was  fascinated  by  the  bulldog  jaw  and 
piercing  eyes  of  the  little  man.  In  brief,  comprehensive, 
vigorous  sentences,  he  set  forth  his  ideals  for  the  chap- 
lain service  in  the  Canadian  army. 

"Three  things,"  he  said,  "I  tell  my  men,  should  mark 
the  Canadian  chaplain  service.  The  first,  Unity — unity 
among  themselves,  unity  with  the  other  departments  of 
the  army.  Two  words  describe  our  chaplains — Christian 
and  Canadians.  I  am  an  Anglican  myself.,  but  on  this 
side  of  the  channel  there  are  no  Anglican,  no  Presby- 
terian, no  Methodist  chaplains,  only  Christian  and  Ca- 
nadian chaplains.  I  have  had  to  fight  for  this  with  high 
officials  both  in  the  army  and  in  the  church.  I  have  won 
out,  and  while  I'm  here  this  will  be  maintained.  The 
second  thing  is  Spirituality.  The  Chaplain  must  be  a 
Christian  man,  living  in  touch  with  the  Divine — alive  to- 
ward God.  Third,  Humanity.  He  must  be  'touched 
with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmity/  sharing  the  experiences 
of  the  men,  getting  to  know  their  feelings,  their  fears, 


200     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

their  loneliness,  their  misery,  their  anxieties,  and  God 
knows  they  have  their  anxieties  for  themselves  and  for 
their  folks  at  home." 

As  Barry  listened,  he  heard  again  his  father's  voice. 
"They  need  you.  They  are  afraid.  They  are  lonely. 
They  need  God." 

"And  remember,"  said  the  A.D.C.S.,  as  he  rose  to 
dose  the  interview,  "that  I  am  at  your  back.  If  you 
have  any  difficulty,  let  me  know.  If  you  are  wrong,  I 
promise  to  tell  you.  If  you  are  right,  I'll  back  you  up. 
Now,  let  us  go  and  look  over  the  hospital.  There  are 
some  of  our  fellows  there.  If  you  feel  like  saying  any- 
thing in  the  convalescent  ward,  all  right,  but  don't  let  it 
worry  you." 

As  they  went  through  the  wards,  Barry  could  not  but 
notice  how  the  faces  of  the  patients  brightened  as  his 
chief  approached,  and  how  their  eyes  followed  him  after 
he  had  passed. 

They  moved  slowly  through  those  long  corridors,  sanc- 
tified by  the  sufferings  and  griefs  and  hidden  tears  of 
homesick  and  homelonging  men,  to  many  of  whom  it 
seemed  that  the  best  of  life  was  past. 

When  they  had  gone  the  length  of  the  convalescent 
ward,  the  A.D.C.S.  turned  and,  after  getting  permission 
of  the  medical  superintendent,  briefly  introduced  Barry 
to  the  wounded  men,  as  "a  man  from  the  wild  and  woolly 
Canadian  west,  on  his  way  up  the  line,  and  therefore 
competent  to  tell  us  about  the  war,  and  especially  when 
it  will  end." 

Beside  them  stood  a  piano,  and  on  it  lay  a  violin  in 
its  open  case.  Barry  took  up  the  violin,  fingered  its 
strings  in  an  absent-minded  way,  and  said : 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  war,  men,  but  I  do 
know  when  it  will  end,  and  that  is  when  we  lick  those 
Huns  good  and  plenty,  as  our  American  friends  would 
say,"  bowing  to  the  doctor  at  his  side.  "I'm  an  awfully 
poor  speaker,  boys,"  he  continued  in  a  confidential  tone, 
"but  I  can  make  this  thing  talk  a  bit." 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  201 

Without  further  preface  he  began  to  play.  He  had 
not  held  a  violin  in  his  hands  since  he  had  played  with  his 
father  at  home.  Unconsciously  his  fingers  wandered  into 
the  familiar  notes  of  Handel's  Largo.  He  found  the 
violin  to  possess  an  exceptionally  rich  and  pure  quality 
of  tone. 

As  he  began  to  play,  a  door  opened  behind  them,  ad- 
mitting Paula,  the  V.A.D.  and  two  or  three  young  doc- 
tors, who  took  their  places  in  the  corner  about  the  piano. 

"Do  you  know  this?"  whispered  Paula  to  the  V.A.D., 
as  she  caught  the  strains  of  the  Largo. 

"Yes.    I  used  to  play  it  with  my  brother." 

"Go  to  it,  then,"  said  Paula. 

But  the  V.A.D.  hesitated. 

"Go  on!    Look  at  the  boys,  and  look  at  his  face." 

The  V.A.D.  glanced  about  the  room  at  the  lines  of 
pale  and  patient  faces,  which,  in  spite  of  the  marks  of 
pain,  were  so  pathetically  and  resolutely  bright.  Then 
she  glanced  at  Barry's  face.  He  had  forgotten  all  about 
his  surroundings,  and  his  face  was  illumined  with  the 
light  from  those  hidden  lamps  that  burn  deep  in  the  soul 
of  genius,  a  light  enriched  and  warmed  by  the  glow  of 
a  heart  in  sympathy  with  its  kind. 

In  obedience  to  Paula's  command  and  a  little  push  upon 
her  shoulder,  the  V.A.D.  sat  down  at  the  piano  and 
touched  the  notes  softly,  feeling  for  the  key,  then  fell 
in  with  the  violin. 

At  the  first  note,  Barry  turned  sharply  about  and  as 
she  found  her  key  and  began  to  follow,  he.  stepped  back 
to  her  side.  Immediately,  from  his  instrument,  there 
seemed  to  flow  a  richer,  fuller  stream  of  melody.  From 
the  solemn  and  stately  harmonies  of  the  Largo,  he 
passed  to  those  old  familiar  airs,  that  never  die  and  never 
lose  their  power  over  the  human  heart — "Annie  Laurie" 
and  "Ben  Bolt,"  and  thence  to  a  rollicking  French  chan- 
son, which  rather  bowled  over  his  accompanist,  but  only 
for  the  first  time  though,  for  she  had  the  rare  gift  of 
improvisation,  and  sympathetic  accompaniment. 


202     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Then  with  a  full  arm  bowing,  he  swept  them  into  the 
fiercely  majestic  strains  of  the  ''Marseillaise,"  bringing 
the  blue-coated  orderlies  about  the  door,  and  such  pa- 
tients as  could  stand,  and  the  group  about  the  piano  to 
rigid  attention.  From  the  "Marseillaise"  it  was  easy  to 
pass  into  the  noble  simplicity  of  his  own  national  song, 
"Oh,  Canada!"  where  again  his  accompanist  was  quite 
able  to  follow,  and  thence  to  the  Empire's  National  An- 
them, which  had  for  a  hundred  years  or  more  lifted  to 
their  feet  British  soldiers  and  sailors  the  world  over. 

As  he  drew  his  bow  over  the  last  chord,  Paula  stepped 
to  his  side,  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Where's  America  in  this  thing?" 

Without  an  instant's  break  in  the  music,  he  dropped 
into  a  whimsical  and  really  humorous  rendering  of  "Yan- 
kee Doodle."  Quickly  the  V.A.D.  moved  from  the  stool, 
caught  Paula  and  thrust  her  into  the  vacant  place.  Then 
together  the  violin  and  piano  rattled  into  a  fantastic 
and  brilliant  variation  of  that  famous  and  trifling  air. 
Again,  with  a  sudden  change  of  mood,  Barry  swung  into 
that  old  song  of  the  homesick  plantation  negro,  "The 
Suwanee  River" — a  simple  enough  air,  but  under  the  ma- 
nipulations of  a  master  lending  itself  to  an  interpretation 
of  the  deep  and  tender  emotions  which  in  that  room  and 
in  that  company  of  French,  British,  Canadian,  American 
folk  were  throbbing  in  a  common  longing  for  the  old 
home  and  the  "old  folks  at  home."  Before  he  had  played 
the  air  once  through,  the  grey-haired  American  doctor 
was  openly  wiping  his  eyes,  and  his  colleagues  looking 
away  from  each  other,  ashamed  of  the  tears  that  did 
them  only  honour. 

Paula's  flushed  face  and  flashing  eyes  were  eloquent 
of  her  deep  emotion,  while  at  her  side  the  V.A.D.  stood 
quiet,  controlled,  but  with  a  glow  of  tender  feeling  shin- 
ing in  her  face  and  in  her  soft  brown  eyes. 

Not  long  did  Barry  linger  amid  those  deeps  of  emo- 
tion, but  straightening  his  figure  to  its  full  height,  and 
throwing  up  his  head,  he,  in  full  octaves,  played  the  open- 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  203 

ing  bars  of  what  has  come  to  be  known  as  America's  na- 
tional anthem,  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

Instantly  the  A.D.C.S.,  the  orderlies  about  the  door, 
the  wounded  French,  British  and  Canadian  soldiers  that 
could  stand,  sprang  to  attention  and  so  remained  while 
the  violin,  with  its  piano  accompaniment,  throbbed  forth 
the  sonorous  chords.  With  the  last  bar,  Barry  dropped 
his  bow  to  his  side,  but  held  the  violin  still  at  his  chin. 
Not  one  of  that  company  moved,  but  stood  with  their 
eyes  fastened  upon  his  face.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
he  quietly  lifted  his  bow  again,  and  on  the  silence,  still 
throbbing  to  the  strains  of  that  triumphant  martial  air, 
there  stole  out  pure,  sweet,  as  from  some  ethereal  source, 
the  long  drawn,  trembling  notes  of  that  old  sacred  mel- 
ody, which,  sounding  over  men  and  women  in  their  hours 
of  terror  and  anguish  and  despair,  has  lifted  them  to 
peace  and  comfort  and  hope — "Nearer,  My  God,  to 
Thee." 

The  tension  which  had  held  the  company  was  relaxed, 
the  wounded  men  sank  to  their  seats,  the  A.D.C.S.  re- 
moved his  hat,  which,  according  to  military  regulations, 
he  had  worn  to  this  moment.  On  all  sides",  heads  dropped 
in  an  attitude  of  reverence,  and  so  continued  until  Barry 
had  drawn  the  last  deep,  vibrating  note  to  a  close. 

When  he  had  laid  his  violin  in  its  case,  the  old  Ameri- 
can doctor  came  forward,  with  his  hand  extended. 

"Let  me,  as  an  American  and  a  Christian,  thank  you, 
sir,"  he  said. 

One  by  one  the  group  of  Americans  came  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  the  last  being  Paula,  who  held  his  hand 
a  moment  and  said  softly : 

"Thank  you,  Barry.  I  believe  all  that  stuff  now.  I 
have  learned  it  here." 

The  last  of  all  to  come  was  the  V.A.D.  Shyly,  with 
a  smile  radiant  through  her  tears,  she  offered  her  hand, 
saying:  "Thank  you!  He  would  have  liked  that,  I 
know." 


204     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Captain  Dunbar,  where's  your  own  violin?"  The 
abrupt  tone  of  the  A.D.C.S.  startled  them  all. 

"At  home,  sir.  I  didn't  think  a  chaplain  would  need 
one." 

"Whose  violin  in  this?"  asked  the  A.D.C.S.  in  his 
brusque  manner. 

"I  rather  think  this  is  mine,"  said  one  of  the  doctors. 

"Will  you  sell  it?  I'll  buy  it  from  you,  at  any  price 
you  say.  I  want  it  for  him." 

"You  can't  buy  it,  colonel,"  said  the  doctor.  "It's  his 
now.  I  never  knew  it  had  all  that  heart  stuff  in  it." 

He  took  up  the  violin,  and  handed  it  to  Barry.  But 
Barry  drew  back  in  astonishment.  Then  the  old  doctor 
came  forward. 

"No,  Travis,"  he  said,  "we'll  do  better  than  that.  What 
did  your  fiddle  cost?" 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  I  think." 

"Travis,  this  company  of  Americans,  representing  their 
country  here  in  France,  as  a  token  of  their  sympathy  with 
the  allies  and  their  sacred  cause,  and  of  gratitude  to  you, 
sir,"  bowing  to  Barry,  "will  buy  this  instrument  and  pre- 
sent it  to  this  young  man,  on  condition  that  he  repeat 
in  similar  circumstances  the  service  he  has  rendered  this 
afternoon.  Am  I  right?"  he  asked,  looking  about  him. 

"You  bet  you  are !    Right  you  are !"  said  the  doctors. 

"Oh,  doctor,  you  are  a  dear  old  thing!"  exclaimed 
Paula. 

Barry  stood  holding  the  instrument  in  his  hand,  un- 
able to  find  his  voice.  The  A.D.C.S.  came  to  his  aid. 

"In  the  name  of  my  chaplain,  and  in  the  name  of  thou- 
sands of  Canadian  soldiers  to  whom  I  promise  you  he 
will  bring  the  blessing  that  he  has  brought  us  this  after- 
noon, I  thank  you  for  this  very  beautiful  and  very  char- 
acteristic American  act." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "I  don't  know  how  you 
folks  feel,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  to  church." 

"Now,  sir,"  said  the  A.D.C.S.  to  Barry,  in  his  military 
tone,  "I  am  organising  a  company  of  musicians  who  will 


A  MAN  OF  GOD  205 

go  through  our  camps  and  help  the  boys  as  you  have 
helped  us  to-day.  I  would  like  you  to  be  one  of  them. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"Oh,  sir,"  exclaimed  Barry  hastily,  laying  the  violin 
upon  the  piano  and  standing  back  from  it,  "don't  make 
that  an  order,  sir.  I  want  to  stay  with  my  men." 

His  face  was  quivering  with  deep  emotion.  The 
A.D.C.S.  looked  into  the  quivering  face. 

"All  right,  Dunbar,"  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  and 
putting  his  hand  on  Barry's  shoulder.  "I  guess  you  are 
all  right." 

"Some  boy !  What  ?"  said  the  American  doctor.  "Here 
I  think  you  had  better  take  your  fiddle  along,"  handing 
Barry  the  violin.  "It  doesn't  belong  to  any  one  in  this 
bunch." 

The  burst  of  laughter  that  followed,  all  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  humour  of  the  remark,  revealed  the  tensity 
of  the  strain  through  which  they  had  passed. 

Through  the  little  town  of  Etaples  they  drove  to- 
gether in  almost  complete  silence,  until  they  had  emerged 
into  the  country,  lying  spread  out  about  them  in  all  the 
tender  beauty  of  the  soft  spring  evening.  As  the  car 
moved  through  the  sweet  silence  of  the  open  fields,  the 
V.A.D.  said  softly: 

"Oh,  Captain  Dunbar,  I " 

"My  name  is  Barry,"  he  said  gently. 

A  quick  flush  came  into  the  beautiful  face  and  a  soft 
light  to  the  brown  eyes,  as  she  answered : 

"And  mine  is  Phyllis."  Then  she  hurried  to  add,  "I 
was  going  to  say  that  you  helped  me  this  afternoon  as 
nothing  has  since  my  dear  brothers  went." 

"Thank  you,  Phyllis.  What  you  have  been  to  me 
through  all  these  days,  I  wish  I  could  tell,  but  I  can't 
find  words." 

Then  they  rode  together  in  silence  that  was  more 
eloquent  than  any  words  of  theirs  could  be.  At  length 
Barry  burst  forth  enthusiastically: 


206     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Those  Americans!  What  a  beautiful  and  gracious 
act  of  kindness  that  was  to  me." 

"Oh,"  replied  Phyllis,  with  answering  enthusiasm, 
"aren't  they  fine!  That  was  perfectly  ripping  of  them/' 


CHAPTER   XIII 

INTENSIVE  TRAINING 

BARRY'S  return  to  the  battalion  was  like  a  coming 
home.  In  the  mess  there  was  no  demonstration  of 
sympathy  with  him  in  his  loss,  but  the  officers  took  oc- 
casion to  drop  in  casually  with  an  interesting  bit  of  news, 
seeking  to  express,  more  or  less  awkwardly,  by  their 
presence  what  they  found  it  impossible  to  express  in  ac- 
tual words. 

It  was  to  Barry  an  experience  as  new  as  it  was  delight- 
ful. Hitherto,  as  far  as  any  real  fellowship  was  con- 
cerned he  had  lived  a  life  of  comparative  isolation  among 
his  fellow  officers,  and  while  they  were  careful  to  pre- 
serve the  conventions  and  courtesies  imposed  by  their 
mutual  relations,  he  had  ever  been  made  to  feel  that 
in  that  circle  he  was  an  outsider. 

Among  the  officers  who  came  to  call  upon  him,  none 
surprised  him  more  than  did  Major  Bayne.  While  that 
officer  had  always  been  careful  to  maintain  an  attitude 
toward  him,  at  once  correct  and  civil,  there  had  never 
been  any  approach  to  friendliness.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Major  Bayne  was  too  entirely  occupied  with  his  own 
interests  to  have  either  the  leisure  or  the  inclination  for 
anything  but  a  casual  concern  for  the  chaplain  and  his 
affairs.  That  was  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Life  in  the 
army,  notwithstanding  all  its  loyalties  and  its  fine  unsel- 
fishnesses, is,  in  some  of  its  phases,  a  brutally  self-cen- 
tred form  of  existence.  Its  routine  consists  in  the  con- 
tinual performance  of  "duties"  under  an  authority  ruth- 
less in  its  exactions  and  relentless  in  its  penalties.  Only 
after  months  of  experience  of  its  iron  rigidity  does  the 
civilian,  accustomed  as  he  is  to  self-determination,  with 
a  somewhat  easygoing  regard  for  the  conventions  of  his 

207 


208     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

community,  arrive  at  the  state  of  mind  in  which  uncon- 
sciously and  as  a  matter  of  second  nature  he  estimates 
the  quality  of  the  most  trivial  act  by  its  relation  to  the 
standard  set  by  the  Military  High  Command.  Like  a 
spectre  does  that  solemn,  impalpable,  often  perfectly  un- 
reasonable omniscient  and  omnipotent  entity  lurk  in  the 
shadow  ready  to  reach  out  a  clutching  hand,  and  for 
some  infraction  of  regulations,  wilful  or  inadvertent, 
hale  the  luckless  and  shivering  defaulter  to  judgment. 
It  therefore  behooves  a  man  to  take  heed  to  himself  and 
to  his  ways,  for,  with  the  best  intention,  he  may  discover 
that  he  has  been  guilty  of  an  infraction,  not  of  a  regu- 
lation found  in  K.  R.  &  O.,  with  which  he  has  painfully 
made  himself  familiar  and  which  he  has  diligently  exer- 
cised himself  to  observe,  but  of  one  of  those  seventeen 
hundred  and  sixty-nine  "instructions"  and  "informa- 
tions" which  from  time  to  time  have  appeared  in  those 
sacred  writings  known  as  Army,  Divisional,  Brigade,  or 
Battalion  Orders. 

In  consequence,  an  officer  with  a  conscience  toward  his 
duty,  or  an  ambition  for  promotion,  gives  himself  so  com- 
pletely to  the  business  of  "watching  his  step"  that  only 
by  a  definite  exercise  of  his  altruistic  faculties  can  he  in- 
dulge himself  in  the  commendable  civilian  luxury  of  car- 
ing for  his  neighbour. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Major  Bayne,  possessing  in 
a  large  measure  the  quality  of  "canniness"  characteristic 
of  his  race — a  quality  which  for  the  benefit  of  the  un- 
initiated Saxon  it  may  be  necessary  to  define  as  being  a 
judicious  blending  of  shrewdness  and  caution, — and  be- 
ing as  well,  again  after  the  manner  of  his  race,  ambi- 
tious for  his  own  advancement,  and,  furthermore,  being 
a  man  of  conscience,  had  been  so  entirely  engrossed  in 
the  absorbing  business  of  "watching  his  step"  that  he  had 
paid  slight  heed  to  the  affairs  of  any  other  officer,  and 
least  of  all  to  those  of  the  chaplain,  whose  functions  in 
the  battalion  he  had  regarded,  it  must  be  confessed,  as 
more  or  less  formal,  if  not  merely  decorative. 


INTENSIVE  TRAINING  209 

M 

But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  in  the  major  the  biggest  thing 
was  his  heart,  which,  however,  true  to  his  race  type  again, 
he  kept  stored  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  his  system.  To 
"touch"  the  major's  "heart"  was  an  operation  of  more 
than  ordinary  difficulty.  It  was  that  very  thing,  however, 
which  the  letter  to  the  battalion  Commanding  Officer 
from  the  A.D.C.S.  had  achieved.  The  effect  of  this  let- 
ter upon  the  members  of  the  mess,  and  most  especially 
upon  the  junior  major  in  regard  to  their  relation  to  their 
chaplain,  was  revolutionary.  Hence  the  major's  visit  to 
Barry  upon  the  evening  of  his  return. 

It  was  with  an  unusually  cordial  handshake  that  he 
greeted  the  chaplain. 

"We  are  glad  to  have  you  back  with  us,  Captain  Dun- 
bar,"  he  said.  "We  missed  you,  and  we  have  discovered 
that  we  need  you.  Things  have  been  moving  while  you 
were  away.  This  battalion  is  undergoing  a  transforma- 
tion. The  O.C.  is  tightening  down  the  screws  of  dis- 
cipline. He  sees,  and  we  all  are  beginning  to  see,  that 
we  are  up  against  a  different  proposition  from  what  we 
had  imagined,  and  right  here,  Captain  Dunbar,  I  want  to 
say  for  myself,  and  I  believe  for  the  rest  of  the  boys, 
that  we  have  not  given  you  a  square  deal." 

His  attitude  and  his  words  astounded  Barry. 

"Don't  say  that,  major,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
emotion.  "Don't  say  that.  I  have  been  all  wrong.  I  am 
not  going  to  talk  about  it,  but  I  am  awfully  glad  to  get 
a  second  chance." 

"If  you  need  a  second  chance,  Pilot,"  said  the  major, 
for  the  first  time  using  the  friendly  western  sobriquet, 
"believe  me,  you'll  get  it." 

The  major  sat  down,  pulled  out  his  pipe,  and  began  to 
impart  some  interesting  bits  of  news. 

"Things  are  moving  rather  swiftly  with  us  these  days. 
There  are  many  changes  taking  place.  Duff  has  gone 
permanently  to  the  transport,  and  is  in  the  way  for  a 
captaincy.  Hopeton  has  gone  for  a  machine  gun  course. 
Sally  is  to  be  company  commander  in  his  place.  Booth 


210     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

takes  charge  of  the  bombers.  Your  friend,  Sergeant 
Knight,  is  slated  for  a  commission.  He  is  doing  awfully 
well  with  the  signallers,  and,  by  the  way,  there  is  some- 
thing I  want  to  show  you  to-morrow,  something  quite 
unique  and  remarkable,  our  new  instructor  in  bayonet 
fighting.  Do  you  know  we  were  rather  stuck  on  our 
bayonet  fighting,  but  he  has  made  the  boys  feel  that  they 
didn't  know  anything  about  bayonet  fighting,  or,  for  that 
matter,  about  anything  else.  I  think  you  will  enjoy  him. 
The  boys  are  all  up  on  their  toes.  There  is  nothing  like 
the  scream  of  a  live  shell  'coming  in'  to  speed  up  the 
training." 

When  the  major  had  departed,  he  left  Barry  in  a  maze 
of  wonder  and  gratitude.  That  the  battalion  were  glad 
to  have  him  back,  that  all  the  old  feeling  of  latent  hos- 
tility of  which  he  had  been  conscious  was  gone,  and  that 
they  felt  that  they  really  needed  him  stirred  in  his  heart 
a  profound  sense  of  humility  and  gratitude. 

Late  as  it  was  he  felt  he  must  go  out  for  a  stroll  about 
the  camp  just  to  see  the  men  and  give  them  greeting. 

Wherever  he  went  he  was  greeted  with  a  new  respect 
and  a  new  cordiality.  It  was  as  if  he  had  passed  through 
some  mystic  initiation  ceremony  and  had  been  admitted 
into  a  magic  circle  of  comradeship  with  the  common 
soldier,  than  which  no  privilege  is  more  dearly  coveted 
by  the  officers,  from  the  colonel  himself  to  the  youngest 
sub,  and  which  is  indeed,  in  the  last  analysis,  the  sine 
qua  non  of  effective  leadership. 

As  Barry  was  passing  the  sergeants'  mess-room  the 
door  opened  and  there  came  out  Sergeant  Major  McFet- 
teridge  himself,  with  two  others  of  the  mess. 

"Good  evening,  sergeant  major,"  said  Barry  quietly 
passing  on  his  way. 

"Good  evening,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant  major  with  his 
usual  stiff  salute.  "Oh,  it's  you,  sir,"  he  cried  as  the  light 
fell  upon  Barry's  face.  "We're  glad  to  see  you  back, 
sir." 

"Thank  you,  sergeant  major,"  replied  Barry,  offering 


INTENSIVE  TRAINING 

his  hand,  "and  I'm  glad  to  be  back  with  you  all  again." 

'Thank  you,  sir.  I  assure  you  we're  glad  to  have  you. 
Won't  you  come  in,  sir?  The  boys  will  all  want  to  see 
you,"  and  so  saying  the  sergeant  major  threw  wide  open 
the  door. 

Nowhere  is  class  privilege  more  appreciated  and  more 
jealously  guarded  than  in  the  sergeants'  mess.  It  is 
the  most  enclusive  of  all  military  circles.  Realising  this, 
Barry  was  glad  to  accept  the  invitation.  The  hut  was 
filled  with  sergeants  in  easy  deshabille,  smoking,  loung- 
ing, playing  various  games. 

"The  chaplain,  boys,"  announced  the  sergeant  major, 
and  instantly  every  man  was  on  his  feet,  and  at  attention. 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  said  the  sergeant  major.  "The 
chaplain  has  just  dropped  in  for  a  minute  for  a  friendly 
call,  and  we  want  you  to  feel,  sir,"  he  added,  for  the 
sergeant  major  loved  a  little  ceremonial,  "that  we  re- 
spectfully sympathise  with  you  in  your  loss,  and  that  we 
consider  ourselves  honoured  by  your  presence  here  to- 
night." 

Barry  was  so  deeply  touched  by  the  unexpected  warmth 
of  their  welcome,  and  by  the  reference  to  his  recent  sor- 
row, that  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  Without 
a  word  he  passed  around  the  group,  shaking  hands  with 
each  man  in  turn.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  the  round, 
he  had  his  voice  in  control,  and  said : 

"Sergeant  major,  this  is  very  kind  of  you.  I  thank 
you  for  this  welcome,  and  I  am  grateful  for  your  sym- 
pathy." He  hesitated  a  moment  or  two;  then,  as  if  he 
heard  his  father's  voice,  "Tell  them !  Tell  them !  They 
don't  know  Him,"  he  added:  "And,  sergeant  major,  if 
you  will  allow  me,  I  have  something  I  want  to  say  to  all 
the  men  when  I  get  a  chance.  I  cannot  say  it  all  to-night 
to  the  sergeants,  but  this  much  I  would  like  to  say :  That 
since  I  saw  you,  I  believe  I  have  got  a  new  idea  of  my 
work  in  the  battalion.  I  got  it  from  a  sergeant  major 
whose  men  told  me  that  he  was  a  fine  soldier  and  a  brave 
man,  and  more  than  that,  that  he  was  'like  a  father  to 


212     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

them.'  That,  sergeant  major,  was  my  own  father. 
From  him  I  learned  that  my  job  was  not  to  jump  on  men 
for  their  faults,  but  to  help  men  to  know  God,  who  is  our 
Father  in  Heaven,  and,  men,  I  think  if  I  can  do  this,  I 
shall  count  myself  happy,  for  He  is  worth  knowing,  and 
we  all  need  Him." 

His  words  gripped  them  hard.  Then  he  added,  "Be- 
fore I  say  'good  night,'  may  I  have  the  privilege  of  lead- 
ing you  to  Him  in  words  that  you  have  all  learned  at 
your  mother's  knee?"  Then  simply  he  spoke  the  words 
of  that  immortal  prayer,  the  men  joining  in  low  and 
reverent  voices. 

After  the  prayer,  he  quietly  said,  "Good  night!"  and 
was  passing  out  of  the  hut.  He  had  not  got  to  the  door, 
however,  when  the  sergeant  major's  voice  arrested  him. 

"Sir,  on  behalf  of  the  sergeants,  I  thank  you  for  com- 
ing in  and  I  thank  you  for  your  words.  You  have  done 
us  all  good." 

The  following  morning,  a  sergeant  from  a  neigh- 
bouring battalion,  visiting  the  transport  lines,  and  ob- 
serving Barry  passing  along  with  Major  Bayne  on  the 
battalion  parade  ground,  took  occasion  to  remark : 

"That  is  your  padre,  ain't  it?  He  checks  you  fellows 
up  rather  short,  don't  he?" 

"Yes,  that  is  our  padre,  or  Pilot,  as  we  like  to  call 
him,"  was  Sergeant  Mackay's  answer,  "but  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  he  can  just  check  us  up  until  our  heads  touch  the 
crupper,  and  it's  nobody's  damned  business  but  our  own." 

"Well,  you  needn't  get  so  blasted  hot  over  it.  I  ain't 
said  nothing  against  your  padre  that  I  haven't  heard  from 
your  own  fellows." 

"That's  all  right,  sergeant.  That  was  before  we  got 
to  the  war.  I'm  not  huntin'  for  any  trouble  with  any- 
body, but  if  any  one  wants  to  start  up  anything  with  any 
one,  sergeant,  in  this  battalion,  he  knows  how  to  do  it." 

And  this  came  to  be  recognised  as  an  article  in  the 
creed  of  the  sergeant's  mess. 

The  bayonet-fighting  squad  were  engaged  in  some  pre- 


INTENSIVE  TRAINING  213 

liminary  drill  of  the  more  ordinary  kind  when  Major 
Bayne  and  the  chaplain  arrived  on  the  ground. 

"We'll  just  watch  the  little  beggar  a  while  from  here 
and  go  up  later,"  said  the  major. 

As  Barry  watched  the  drill  sergeant  on  his  job,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  seen  a  soldier  work  be- 
fore. In  figure,  in  pose,  in  action  there  was  a  perfection 
about  him  that  awakened  at  once  admiration  and  envy. 
Below  the  average  height,  yet  not  insignificant,  erect, 
without  exaggeration,  precise  in  movement  without  an- 
gularity, swift  in  action  without  haste,  he  was  indeed  a 
joy  to  behold. 

"Now,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that?"  enquired 
the  major,  after  their  eyes  had  followed  the  evolutions 
of  the  drill  sergeant  for  a  time. 

"Never,"  said  Barry,  "nor  do  I  hope  to  again.  He  is 
a — I  was  going  to  say  dream,  but  he's  no  dream.  He's 
much  too  wide  awake  for  that.  He's  a  poem ;  that's  what 
he  is." 

Back  and  forth,  about  and  around,  stepped  the  little 
drill  sergeant,  a  finished  example  of  precise,  graceful 
movement.  He  was  explaining  in  clean  cut,  and  evidently 
memorised  speech  the  details  of  the  movements  he  wished 
executed,  but  through  his  more  formal  and  memorised 
vocabulary  his  native  cockney  would  occasionally  erupt, 
adding  vastly  to  the  pungency  and  picturesqueness  of  his 
speech. 

"He  knows  we  are  here  all  right,"  said  the  major, 
"but  he  would  not  let  on  if  it  were  King  George  himself. 
I'll  bet  you  a  month's  pay,  though,  that  we  can't  get  one 
foot  beyond  what  he  considers  the  saluting  point  before 
he  comes  to  attention,  and  as  for  his  salute,  there  is  noth- 
ing like  it  in  the  whole  Canadian  army.  Talk  about  a 
poem,  his  salute  has  Shakespeare  faded.  Now  he's  going 
to  move  them  off.  Watch  and  listen !" 

"Ye-a-ou-w !"  came  the  long-drawn  cry,  fiercely  threat- 
ening, representing  in  English  speech  the  word  "squad." 
Then  followed  an  expletive,  "Yun !"  which  for  explosive 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

quality  made  a  rifle  crack  seem  a  drawl,  and  which  ap- 
peared to  release  in  the  men  a  hidden  spring  drawn  to 
its  utmost  tension.  The  slack  and  sagging  line  leaped 
into  a  rigid  unit,  of  breathless,  motionless  humanity. 

"Aw-e-ou-aw !"  a  prolonged  vocalisation,  expressive  of 
an  infinite  and  gentle  pity,  and  interpreted  to  the  initiated 
ear  to  mean  "As  you  were !"  released  the  rigid  line  to  its 
former  sagging  state. 

"N-a-w  then,"  said  the  voice  in  a  semi-undertone,  slow 
and  tense,  "this  ain't  no  arter  dinner  bloomin'  siester.  A 
little  snap — pie — ease !"  The  last  word  in  a  sharply  ris- 
ing inflection,  tightening  up  the  spring  again  for  the  ex- 
plosive "Ye-a-ou-w — yun!"  (Squad  attention.)  "Aw- 
e-ou-r — yun ! ! !  Aw-e-ou-r — yun ! ! !" 

Without  warning  came  the  commands,  repeating  "As 
you  were !"  "Attention !"  He  walked  up  and  down  be- 
fore the  rigid  line,  looking  them  over  and  remarking 
casually, 

"Might  be  a  little  worse,"  adding  as  an  afterthought, 
"per-haps!"  After  which,  with  a  sharp  right  turn,  and 
a  quick  march,  he  himself  leading  with  a  step  of  clean- 
cut,  easy  grace,  he  moved  them  to  the  bayonet-fighting 
ground. 

"By  Jove!"  breathed  Barry.  "Did  you  ever  imagine 
anything  like  that?" 

"The  result  of  ten  years  in  the  regular  army,"  said  the 
major. 

"It's  almost  worth  it,"  answered  Barry. 

Arriving  at  the  bayonet-fighting  ground,  the  little  ser- 
geant major  put  the  squad  through  their  manual  as  if 
they  had  been  recruits,  to  a  running  comment  of  biting 
pleasantries.  After  bringing  them  to  attention,  he  walked 
slowly  down  the  line,  then  back  again,  and  remarked 
after  due  deliberation : 

"I  have  seen  worse — not  often "  Then,  in  a  tone 

of  resignation,  he  gave  the  order : 

"Stan-a-yeh!!!" 

The  men  "stood  at  ease,"  and  then  "stood  easy." 


INTENSIVE  TRAINING  215 

"Now,  then,"  said  the  major,  "we'll  steal  in  on  him, 
if  we  can."  They  moved  forward  toward  the  little  ser- 
geant major,  who  remained  studying  the  opposite  hori- 
zon in  calm  abstraction  until  their  toes  had  reached  a 
certain  line,  when,  like  the  crack  of  a  whip,  there  came 
once  more  the  long-drawn  cry  with  its  explosive  termina- 
tion: 

"Ye-a-ou-w! — Yun!!!"  with  the  result  that  the  line 
was  again  thrown  into  instantaneous,  breathless  and  mo- 
tionless rigidity. 

Toward  the  advancing  officers  the  sergeant  major 
threw  himself  into  a  salute  with  one  smooth,  unbroken 
movement  of  indescribable  grace  and  finish. 

"Good  morning,  sergeant  major,"  said  Major  Bayne. 
"Captain  Dunbar,  this  is  Sergeant  Major  Hackett." 

Again  came  the  salute,  with  a  barely  perceptible  dimi- 
nution of  snap,  as  befitted  a  less  formal  occasion. 

"Sergeant  major,"  said  Barry,  "I  would  give  a  great 
deal  to  be  able  to  do  that." 

"Wot's  that,  sir?"  enquired  the  sergeant  major. 

"That  salute  of  yours." 

"Quite  easy  wen  you  knaow  'ow !"  permitting  himself 
a  slight  smile. 

"You  are  doing  some  bayonet-fighting,  I  see,  sergeant 
major,"  said  Major  Bayne. 

"Yes,  sir,  goin'  to  do  a  bit,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant 
major. 

"Very  well,  carry  on!" 

And  the  sergeant  major  "carried  on,"  putting  into  his 
work  and  into  his  every  movement  and  utterance  an 
unbelievable  amount  of  concentrated  and  even  vicious 
energy. 

On  the  bayonet-fighting  ground,  the  first  line  of  the 
enemy  was  represented  by  sacks  stuffed  with  straw,  hung 
upon  a  frame,  the  second  by  stuffed  sacks  deposited  on 
the  parapet  of  a  trench.  In  bayonet-fighting  the  three 
points  demanding  special  emphasis  are  the  "guarding" 


216     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

of  the  enemy's  attack,  a  swift  bayonet  thrust  and  an 
equally  swift  recovery,  each  operation,  whether  in  case 
of  a  living  enemy  or  in  the  stuffed  effigy,  being  attended 
with  considerable  difficulty.  Barry  was  much  interested 
in  the  psychological  element  introduced  into  the  exercises 
by  the  drill  master. 

"You  must  halways  keep  in  mind  'that  the  henemy  is 
before  you.  It's  important  that  you  should  visualise  your 
foe.  The  henemy  is  hever  before  you.  Anything  be-ind 
a  British  soldier  won't  trouble  anybody,  and  you  are  to 
remember  that  hit's  either  you  or  Jim." 

In  moments  of  rapid  action  the  sergeant  major  evi- 
dently had  difficulty  with  his  aspirates. 

"The  suspended  sacks  before  you  represent  the  hen- 
emy. You  are  to  treat  'em  so." 

Having  got  his  line  within  striking  distance  of  the 
swinging  sacks,  the  exercise  was  directed  by  two  com- 
mands, "On  guard!"  and  "Point!"  the  first  of  which 
was  supposed  to  knock  off  the  enemy's  thrust,  and  the 
second  to  drive  the  bayonet  home  into  his  vitals,  after 
which,  without  command,  there  must  be  a  swift  recovery. 

"Naw  then,  "Hn-gah !— Pint ! ! !" 

For  some  moments,  in  response  to  these  orders,  the 
squad  practised  "guarding"  and  "pointing,"  not,  how- 
ever, to  the  complete  satisfaction  of  the  sergeant. 

"Naw,  then,  number  five,  stick  it  hinto  'im.  Ye  ain't 
'andin'  a  lidy  an  unbreller!" 

Another  attempt  by  number  five  being  still  suggestive 
of  the  amenities  proper  to  a  social  function,  the  ser- 
geant major  stepped  up  to  the  overgentle  soldier. 

"Naw,  then,"  he  said,  "hobserve !  There's  my  henemy. 
See  'is  hugly  mug.  Hn-gah !  Pint ! ! !" 

At  the  words  of  command,  the  sergeant  major  threw 
himself  into  his  guard  and  attacked  with  such  appalling 
ferocity  as  must  have  paralysed  an  ordinary  foe,  sending 
his  bayonet  clean  through  to  his  guard,  and  recovering 
it  with  a  clean,  swift  movement. 


INTENSIVE  TRAINING  217 

Having  secured  a  fairly  satisfactory  thrust,  the  ser- 
geant major  devoted  his  attention  to  the  recovery  of  the 
bayonet. 

"Fetch  it  hout!"  he  cried  fiercely.     "There's  another 
man  comin'.    Fetch  it  hout !    Ye  may  fetch  'is  spinial  col-  • 
umn  with  it.     No  matter,  'e  won't  need  it." 

The  final  act  in  this  gruesome  drama  was  the  attack 
upon  the  second  line  represented  by  the  sacks  lying  upon 
the  parapet  of  the  trench  beyond.  The  completed  action 
thus  included  the  guard,  thrust,  recovery,  the  leap  for- 
ward past  the  swinging  line  of  sacks,  and  a  second  thrust 
at  the  figure  prone  upon  the  parapet,  with  a  second  re- 
covery of  the  weapon,  this  second  recovery  being  ef- 
fected by  stamping  the  foot  upon  the  transfixed  effigy^ 
and  jerking  back  the  bayonet  with  a  violent  upwarcr 
movement. 

This  last  recovery  appeared  to  cause  number  rive  again 
some  difficulty. 

"Now  then,  number  five,  put  a  little  aight  (hate)  into 
it.  Stamp  your  bleedin'  'obnyles  (hobnails)  on  his  fice, 
and  fetch  it  hout!  This  wye!"  As  he  took  the  rifle 
from  number  five,  the  sergeant  major's  face  seemed  to 
be  transformed  into  a  living  embodiment  of  envenomed 
hate,  his  attack,  thrust,  recovery,  gathering  in  intensity 
until  with  unimaginable  fury  he  leaped  upon  the  pros- 
trate figure,  drove  his  bayonet  through  to  the  hilt, 
stamped  his  hobnails  upon  the  transfixed  enemy,  jerked 
his  weapon  out,  and  stood  quivering,  ready  for  any  foe 
that  dared  to  approach.  The  savage  ferocity  of  his  face, 
the  fierce  energy  in  his  every  movement,  culminating  in 
that  last  vicious  leap  and  stamp,  altogether  constituted 
such  a  dramatic  and  realistic  representation  of  actual 
fighting  that  the  whole  line  burst  into  a  very  unsoldierly 
but  very  hearty  applause,  which,  however,  the  sergeant 
major  immediately  and  sternly  checked. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  enquired  the  major. 
"Isn't  he  a  scream?" 


218     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"He  is  perfectly  magnificent,"  said  Barry,  "and,  after 
all,  he  is  right  in  his  psychology.  There  is  no  possibility 
of  training  men  to  fight,  without  putting  the  'aight 
into  it!"' 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  TOUCH   OF  WAR 

period  of  intensive  training  was  drawing  to  a 
A  close.  The  finishing  touches  in  the  various  depart- 
ments that  had  come  to  be  considered  necessary  in  mod- 
ern warfare  had  been  given.  With  the  "putting  on  the 
lacquer"  the  fighting  spirit  of  the  men  had  been  sharp- 
ened to  its  keenest  edge.  They  were  all  waiting  impa- 
tiently for  the  order  to  "go  up."  The  motives  under- 
lying that  ardour  of  spirit  varied  with  the  temperament, 
disposition  and  education  of  the  soldier.  There  were 
those  who  were  eager  to  "go  up"  to  prove  themselves  in 
that  deadly  struggle  where  their  fellow  Canadians  had 
already  won  their  right  to  stand  as  comrades  in  arms 
with  the  most  famous  fighting  battalions  of  the  British 
army.  Others,  again,  there  were  in  whose  heart  burned 
a  deep  passion  to  get  into  grips  with  those  hellish  fiends 
whose  cruelties,  practised  upon  defenceless  women  and 
children  in  that  very  district  where  they  were  camped, 
and  upon  wounded  Canadians,  had  stirred  Canada  from 
Vancouver  to  Halifax  with  a  desire  for  revenge. 

But,  with  the  great  majority  there  was  little  of  the 
desire  either  for  military  glory  or  for  revenge.  Their 
country  had  laid  upon  them  a  duty  for  the  discharge  of 
which  they  had  been  preparing  themselves  for  many 
months,  and  that  duty  they  were  ready  to  perform. 
More  than  that,  they  were  eager  to  get  at  it  and  get  done 
with  it,  no  matter  at  what  cost.  With  all  this,  too,  there 
was  an  underlying  curiosity  as  to  what  the  thing  would 
be  like  "up  there."  Far  down  below  all  their  feelings 
there  lay  an  unanswered  interrogation  which  no  man 
dared  to  put  to  his  comrade,  and  which  indeed  few  men 

219 


220     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN 'NO  MAN'S  LAND 

put  to  themselves.  That  interrogation  was :  "How  shall 
I  stand  up  under  the  test?" 

The  camp  was  overrun  with  rumours  from  returning 
battalions  of  the  appalling  horrors  of  the  front  line. 
Ever  since  that  fateful  22nd  of  April,  1915,  that  day  of 
tragedy  and  of  glory  for  the  Canadian  army,  and  for  the 
Canadian  people,  the  Ypres  salient,  the  point  of  honour 
on  the  western  front  from  Dixmude  to  Verdun,  had  been 
given  into  the  keeping  of  the  Canadian  army.  During 
those  long  and  terrible  months,  in  the  face  of  a  continued 
bombardment  and  of  successive  counter-attacks,  with  the 
line  growing  thinner,  week  by  week,  backed  up  by  woe- 
fully inadequate  artillery,  the  Canadian  army  had  held 
on  with  the  grim  tenacity  of  death  itself.  There  was 
nothing  that  they  could  do  but  hold  on.  To  push  the 
salient  deeper  into  the  enemy  lines  would  only  emphasise 
the  difficulty  and  danger  of  their  position.  The  role  as- 
signed them  was  that  of  simply  holding  steady  with  what 
ultimate  objective  in  view  no  one  seemed  to  know. 

Week  by  week,  and  month  after  month,  the  Canadian 
battalions  had  moved  up  into  the  salient,  had  done  their 
"tours,"  building  up  their  obliterated  parapets,  digging 
out  their  choked-up  water-courses,  revetting  their  crum- 
bling trenches,  and  rebuilding  their  flimsy  dugouts,  and 
then  returning  to  their  reserve  lines,  always  leaving  be- 
hind them  in  hastily  dug  graves  over  the  parados  of  their 
trenches,  or  in  the  little  improvised  cemeteries  by  Hooge, 
or  Maple  Copse  or  Hill  60,  a  few  more  of  their  comrades, 
and  ever  sending  down  the  line  their  maimed  and  broken 
to  be  refitted  for  war  or  discharged  again  to  civilian 
life.  It  was  altogether  a  ghastly  business,  a  kind  of  war- 
fare calling  for  an  endurance  of  the  finest  temper  and  a 
courage  of  the  highest  quality. 

From  this  grim  and  endless  test  of  endurance,  the  Ca- 
nadians had  discovered  a  form  of  relief  known  as  a 
"trench  raid,"  a  special  development  of  trench  warfare 
which  later  came  to  be  adopted  by  their  comrades  of  the 
French  and  British  armies.  It  was  a  form  of  sport,  grim 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  221 

enough,  deadly  enough,  greatly  enjoyed  by  the  Canadian 
soldiers;  and  the  battalion  which  had  successfully  pulled 
off  a  trench  raid  always  returned  to  its  lines  in  a  state 
of  high  exaltation.  They  had  been  able  to  give  Fritz  a 
little  of  what  they  had  been  receiving  during  these  weary 
months. 

While  the  battalion  waited  with  ever-growing  impa- 
tience for  the  order  that  would  send  them  "up  the  line/' 
a  group  of  officers  was  gathered  in  the  senior  major's 
hut  for  the  purpose  of  studying  in  detail  some  photo- 
graphs, secured  by  our  aircraft,  of  the  enemy  trenches 
immediately  opposite  their  own  sector  of  the  front  line. 
They  had  finished  their  study,  and  were  engaged  in  the 
diverting  and  pleasant  exercise  of  ragging  each  other. 
The  particular  subject  of  that  discussion  was  their  vari- 
ous sprinting  abilities,  and  the  comparative  usefulness  of 
various  kinds  of  funk-holes  as  a  protection  against 
"J.J.s"  (Jack  Johnsons),  "whizzbangs,"  or  the  uncertain 
and  wobbling  "minniewafers." 

Seldom  had  Barry  found  occasion  to  call  upon  Major 
Bustead,  with  whom  he  had  been  unable  to  establish  any- 
thing more  than  purely  formal  relations.  A  message, 
however,  from  the  orderly  room  to  Lieutenant  Cam- 
eron, which  he  undertook  to  deliver,  brought  him  to  the 
senior  major's  hut. 

"Come  in,  padre,"  said  the  major,  who  of  late  had  be- 
come more  genial,  "and  tell  us  the  best  kind  of  a  funk- 
hole  for  a  'minniewafer.' ' 

"The  deepest  and  the  closest  for  me,  major,  I  should 
say,"  said  Barry,  "from  what  I  have  heard  of  those  un- 
certain and  wobbling  beasts." 

"I  understand  that  chaplains  do  not  accompany  their 
battalions  to  the  front  line,  but  stay  back  at  the  casualty 
clearing  stations,"  suggested  the  major.  "Wise  old 
birds,  they  are,  too."  The  major  had  an  unpleasant 
laugh. 

"I  suppose  they  go  where  they  are  ordered,  sir,"  re- 
plied Barry,  "but  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  have  here  a 


222     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

chit  for  Lieutenant  Cameron,  sir,  which  has  just  come 
in,"  and  Barry  handed  Cameron  his  message. 

"Will  you  allow  me,  sir?"  said  Cameron. 

"Certainly,  go  on,  read  it,"  said  the  major. 

Cameron  read  the  message,  and  on  his  face  there  ap- 
peared a  grave  and  anxious  look. 

"It's  from  the  casualty  clearing  station,  sir.  One  of 
our  chaps  from  Edmonton  is  there  dangerously  wounded, 
and  wants  to  see  me.  I'd  like  to  go,  sir,  if  I  might." 

"Oh,  certainly.  I'll  make  it  all  right  with  the  O.C. 
Get  a  horse  from  the  transport.  Which  casualty  clearing 
station  is  it?" 

Cameron  looked  at  his  message. 

"Menin  Mill,  sir." 

"Menin  Mill!  By  gad,  I  thought  it  was  Brandthoek, 
but  Menin  Mill,  good  Lord,  that's  a  different  proposition. 
That's  way  beyond  Ypres,  you  know.  Right  up  on  the 
line.  You  can't  take  a  horse  there.  Do  you  think  you 
ought  to  go  up  at  all?" 

"I  think  I  should  like  to  go,  sir,"  replied  Cameron.  "I 
know  the  chap  well.  Went  to  school  and  college  with 
him." 

"Then,"  said  the  major,  "you  had  better  hurry  up  and 
attach  yourself  to  one  of  the  transports  going  in.  You 
will  barely  be  in  time." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Cameron,  and  left  the  room. 

Barry  went  out  with  him.  "Who  is  it,  Cameron  ?"  he 
said.  "Do  I  know  him?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  whether  you  do  or  not.  It's  young 
McPherson  of  Edmonton,  an  awfully  decent  chap,  and 
my  very  best  friend." 

"May  I  go  up  with  you,  Duncan?  I  know  Colonel 
Tait  and  Captain  Gregg,  who  are  at  the  Mill,  I  under- 
stand." 

"I  would  be  awfully  glad  if  you  would,  but  I  hardly 
liked  to  ask  you.  It  hasn't  the  reputation  of  being  a  very 
healthy  place,  I  hear." 

"All  right,  Cameron.     I'm  going  up,"  said  Barry. 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  223 

Upon  enquiry  they  found  that  they  were  too  late  for 
the  transports,  and  again  the  question  arose  as  to 
whether,  in  view  of  the  major's  order,  they  should  make 
the  attempt  by  themselves. 

"It  was  not  really  an  order,  I  think,  sir,"  said  Cam- 
eron. "It  was  more  in  the  way  of  a  suggestion.  I  think 
I'll  go.  The  note  said,  'dangerously  wounded,'  and  he 
sent  for  me." 

"All  right,"  said  Barry,  "we'll  go  on,  and  we'll  al- 
most certainly  pick  up  some  one  who  will  be  able  to 
direct  us  to  the  Mill." 

Their  road,  which  took  them  to  Vlammertinghe,  led 
through  level  fields,  lying  waste  and  desolate  with  rank, 
overgrowing  weeds.  As  they  approached  that  historic 
village,  they  saw  on  every  hand  the  cruel  marks  of  war. 
On  either  side  of  the  road  were  roofless  and  shattered 
cottages,  grown  around  with  nettles  and  briars.  Among 
these  ruins,  as  they  found  on  a  later  day,  were  the  old 
garden  flowers,  pansies  and  daisies,  bravely  trying  to 
hold  their  own.  Among  the  rank  weeds  was  to  be  seen 
the  half-hidden  debris  of  broken  farm  gear.  Here  and 
there  stood  the  ruins  of  what  had  been  a  thrifty  home- 
stead, with  its  stone-flagged  courtyard,  around  which 
clustered  its  stables.  Now  nettles  and  briars  grew  around 
the  broken  walls  and  shattered,  staring  windows.  At 
rare  intervals,  a  great  house  appeared,  with  pretentious 
gateway,  and  grass-grown  drive  winding  up  between 
stately  and  mutilated  trees.  Over  the  whole  countryside 
hung  a  melancholy  and  weird  desolation,  cottages,  home- 
steads, fields,  the  very  trees  crying  aloud  to  high  heaven 
for  pity  and  vengeance. 

At  Vlammertinghe,  itself,  the  church  tower  still  stood 
whole,  but  the  church  itself  was  wrecked,  as  were  most 
of  the  village  shops  and  dwellings.  In  the  village  was  to 
be  seen  no  living  thing  except  some  soldiers,  who  in  the 
broken  cellars  were  making  their  bivouacs.  The  village 
stood  deserted  of  its  inhabitants,  ever  since  the  terrific 
onslaught  of  the  Huns,  on  the  22nd  of  April,  1915,  which 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

had  driven  them  forth  from  their  homes,  a  panic- 
stricken,  terror-hunted  crowd  of  old  men,  women  and  lit- 
tle babes,  while  over  them  broke,  with  a  continuous  and 
appalling  roar,  a  pitiless  rain  of  shells. 

At  the  cross-roads  stood  a  mounted  officer,  directing 
the  traffic,  which  here  tended  to  congestion.  As  they 
entered  the  village,  the  sentry  halted  them  to  enquire  as 
to  their  bona  fides.  Having  satisfied  him,  they  enquired 
their  way  to  the  Menin  Mill. 

"Menin!"  The  rising  inflection  of  the  sentry's  voice 
expressed  a  mild  surprise.  "The  old  Mill!  Are  you 
going  there?" 

"Yes,"  said  Barry,  answering  his  inflection.  "Why 
not?" 

"Well,  sir,  you  know,  it's  rather  a  bad  road.  Warm 
bit  of  country  up  there,  but "  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders in  quite  a  French  manner  as  if  to  say  it  was  no 
business  of  his.  "If  you  are  going  to  Menin,  you  keep 
this  road  straight  through  past  Wipers  past  the  Cloth 
Hall,  out  by  the  Menin  Gate.  A  hot  place,  that,  sir.  Then 
straight  on,  taking  the  right  incline  for  about  a  mile  and 
a  half.  You  will  see  a  big  cemetery  on  your  left.  The 
Mill  stands  near  a  big  school  on  your  right.  But  why 
not  drop  into  the  dressing  station,  here,  sir,  right  here  in 
this  old  mill,  which  stands  at  the  cross-roads  ?  You  may 
catch  an  ambulance  going  straight  up  to  the  Mill." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Barry.  "We'll  do  that 
very  thing." 

"Good  luck,  sir,"  said  the  sentry,  saluting. 

They  found  an  ambulance  about  to  start,  and  asked 
for  a  lift. 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  driver,  "but  you'd  better  step 
in  and  ask  the  officer." 

-  They  passed  into  a  large  and  high-vaulted  stone  build- 
ing, which  in  peace  days  had  been  a  mill.  The  old-fash- 
ioned, massive  machinery  was  still  standing  intact.  Ob- 
taining permission  from  the  officer,  they  took  their  places 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  225 

beside  the  driver  of  the  ambulance,  and  were  soon  on  their 
way. 

It  wa"s  already  growing  dark,  but,  although  the  sur- 
face of  the  stone  pave  was  frequently  broken  with  shell- 
holes,  the  ambulance,  dodging  round  the  holes,  rushed 
without  pause  along  at  a  high  rate  of  speed. 

"You  don't  use  your  lights?"  asked  Barry. 

"No,  not  lately,  sir,"  said  the  driver.  "That's  the  new- 
est order,"  he  added  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

The  road  lay  between  double  rows  of  once  noble  trees, 
centuries  old,  with  the  first  delicate  green  of  spring 
softening  their  bare  outlines.  Now,  splintered,  twisted, 
broken,  their  wounds  showing  white  in  the  darkening 
light  through  the  delicate  green,  they  stood  silently  elo- 
quent of  the  terrific  force  of  the  H.E.  shell. 

As  they  went  speeding  along  the  shell-marked  road 
they  came  upon  a  huge  trunk  of  a  mighty  elm,  broken 
clear  from  its  stump,  lying  partially  cross  their  track, 
which  soldiers  were  already  busy  clearing  away.  With- 
out an  instant's  pause,  the  driver  wheeled  his  car  off  the 
pave,  crashed  through  the  broken  treetops,  and  continued 
on  his  way. 

Barry  looked  upon  the  huge  trunk  with  amazement. 

"Did  a  single  shell  break  that  tree  off  like  that?"  he 
asked. 

"You  bet,"  was  the  reply,  "and  all  these  you  see  along 
here.  It's  the  great  transport  road  for  our  front  line, 
and  the  boches  shell  it  regularly.  Here  comes  one  now," 
he  added,  casually. 

There  was  a  soft  woolly  "whoof"  far  away,  a  high, 
thin  whine,  as  from  a  vicious  insect  overhead,  with  every 
fractional  second  coming  nearer  and  yet  nearer,  ever 
deepening  in  tone,  ever  increasing  in  volume,  until,  like 
an  express  train,  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  speed 
and  power,  and  with  an  appalling  roar,  it  crashed  upon 
them.  In  the  field  on  their  left,  there  leaped  fifty  yards 
into  the  air  a  huge  mass  of  earth  and  smoke.  Then  a 
stunning  detonation. 


226     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Insensibly  Barry  and  Cameron  both  crouched  down  in 
the  car,  but  the  driver  held  his  wheel,  without  the  ap- 
parent quiver  of  a  muscle. 

"There'll  be  three  more,  presently,  I  guess,"  he  said, 
putting  on  full  speed. 

His  guess  proved  right.  Again  that  distant  woolly 
"whoof,"  the  long-drawn  whine,  deepening  to  a  scream, 
the  appalling  roar  and  crash,  and  a  second  shell  fell  in  the 
road  behind  them. 

"Two,"  said  the  driver  coolly.  "There  will  be 
a  couple  more." 

Again  and  yet  again,  each  time  the  terror  growing 
deeper  in  their  souls,  came  the  two  other  shells,  but  they 
fell  far  behind. 

"Oh,  Fritzie,"  remonstrated  the  driver,  "that's  rotten 
bad  work.  You'll  have  to  do  better  than  that." 

Again  and  again,  in  groups  of  four,  the  shells  came 
roaring  in,  but  the  car  had  passed  out  of  that  particular 
zone  of  danger,  and  sped  safely  on  its  way. 

"Do  you  have  this  sort  of  thing  every  night?"  en- 
quired Barry. 

"Oh,  no,"  cheerfully  replied  the  driver.  "Fritzie 
makes  a  lot  better  practice  than  that,  at  times.  Do  you 
see  this?"  He  put  his  finger  upon  a  triangular  hole  a 
few  inches  above  his  head.  "I  got  that  last  week.  We 
don't  mind  so  much  going  up,  but  it's  rather  annoying 
when  you're  bringing  down  your  load  of  wounded." 

As  they  approached  Ypres,  the  road  became  more  and 
more  congested,  until  at  length  they  had  to  thread  their 
way  between  two  continuous  streams  of  traffic  up  and 
down,  consisting  of  marching  battalions,  transports,  ar- 
tillery wagons,  ambulances,  with  now  and  then  a  motor 
or  a  big  gun. 

About  a  mile  from  the  city,  they  came  to  a  large 
red  brick  building,  with  pretentious  towers  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  brick  wall. 

"An  asylum,"  explained  the  driver.  "Now  used  as  a 
dressing  station.  We'll  just  run  in  for  orders." 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  227 

At  what  seemed  to  Barry  reckless  speed,  he  whirled 
in  between  the  brick  posts,  and  turned  into  a  courtyard, 
on  one  side  of  which  he  parked  his  ambulance. 

"Better  come  inside,  sir,"  said  the  driver.  "They 
sometimes  throw  a  few  in  here,  seeing  it's  a  hospital." 

They  passed  down  the  wide  stairs,  the  centre  of  which 
had  been  converted  into  a  gangway  for  the  passage  of 
wheeled  stretchers,  into  a  large  basement,  with  concrete 
floors  and  massive  pillars,  lit  by  flaring  gasjets.  Along 
the  sides  of  the  outer  room  were  rows  of  wounded  sol- 
diers, their  bandaged  heads  and  arms  no  whiter  than 
their  faces,  a  patient  and  pathetic  group,  waiting  with- 
out complaint  for  an  ambulance  to  carry  them  down  the 
line. 

In  an  inner  and  operating  room,  Barry  found  two  or 
three  medical  officers,  with  assistants  and  orderlies,  in- 
tent upon  their  work.  While  waiting  there  for  their 
driver,  they  heard  overhead  again  that  ominous  and  ter- 
rifying whine,  this  time,  however,  not  long  drawn,  but 
coming  in  with  terrific  speed,  and  ending  with  a  sharp 
and  shattering  crash.  Again  and  again  and  again,  with 
hardly  a  second  between,  there  came  the  shells.  It  seemed 
to  Barry  as  if  every  crash  was  fair  upon  the  roof  of 
the  building,  but  no  man  either  of  the  medical  attendants 
or  of  the  waiting  wounded  paid  the  slightest  heed. 

At  length  there  came  a  crash  that  seemed  to  break 
within  the  very  room  in  which  they  were  gathered.  The 
lights  flickered,  some  of  them  went  out,  there  was  a  sound 
as  if  a  tower  had  crashed  down  upon  the  roof.  Dust  and 
smoke  filled  the  room. 

"Light  up  that  gas,"  said  the  Officer  Commanding. 
An  orderly  sprang  to  obey.  The  gasjets  were  once  more 
lighted  and  the  work  went  on. 

"Rather  near,  wasn't  that  one?"  asked  Barry  of  a 
wounded  man  at  his  side. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  casually,  "they  got  a  piece  that  time/' 
and  again  he  sunk  into  apathetic  silence. 


228     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

In  a  few  moments  the  driver  had  obtained  his  orders 
and  was  ready  to  set  forth. 

"Better  wait  a  bit,"  said  the  sergeant  at  the  door,  "un- 
til their  Evening  Hate  is  over." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  driver.  "I  guess  Fritz 
is  pretty  well  through.  They  are  rather  crowded  there 
at  the  mill,  and  I  guess  we'll  go  on." 

In  his  heart,  Barry  earnestly  hoped  that  the  sergeant 
would  interpose  with  a  more  definite  command,  but,  in- 
asmuch as  the  bombardment  had  apparently  ceased,  and 
as  if  it  were  all  in  a  day's  work,  the  driver,  buttoning 
up  his  coat,  said : 

"We'll  go,  sir,  if  you  are  ready." 

A  few  minutes'  run  brought  them  to  the  gate  of  the 
ruined  city.  As  the  car  felt  its  way  through  the  ghostly 
town,  Barry  was  only  vaguely  conscious  in  the  darkness 
of  its  ghostly  skeletonlike  ruins.  Fifteen  minutes  brought 
them  to  the  Menin  gate. 

"Sounds  rather  hot  out  there,"  remarked  the  driver. 
"Well,  Fritzie,  I  guess  we  won't  join  your  party  this 
time.  We  prefer  to  wait,  if  you  don't  mind,  really." 

He  ran  the  car  into  the  lee  of  the  ramparts,  by  the  side 
of  the  gateway,  waited  there  half  an  hour  or  so,  until  the 
"Evening  Hate"  was  past;  then  onward  again  to  the 
Menin  Mill. 

They  lifted  the  blanket  covering  the  sandbagged  en- 
trance, passed  through  a  dark  corridor  and  came  into  a 
cellar,  lit  by  lanterns,  swinging  from  the  roof,  and  by 
candles  everywhere  upon  ledges  or  upon  improvised 
candlesticks. 

No  sooner  had  they  come  into  the  light,  than  Barry 
saw  across  the  room  his  friend,  Dr.  Gregg,  his  coat  off, 
and  his  shirtsleeves  rolled  to  his  elbows. 

"Hello,  Dunbar,"  said  the  doctor,  coming  forward. 
"I  guess  I  won't  shake  hands  just  now.  Sit  down. 
Won't  you  have  a  cup  of  coffee?  Jim,"  turning  to  an 
orderly,  "give  Captain  Dunbar  a  cup  of  coffee." 

Barry  presented  Cameron  to  his  friend,  and  together 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR 

they  sat  down  and  waited.  When  the  doctor  was  through 
with  his  patient,  he  came  and  sat  down  with  them. 

"We  came  up  to  see  a  young  chap  named  McPherson. 
I  think  you  sent  a  note  down  about  him  to-day." 

"McPherson,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  don't  remember, 
but  I  will  see." 

He  turned  to  a  desk  and  turning  over  the  pages  of  a 
record,  apparently  found  the  name,  and  returned  to 
Barry. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  McPherson  died  this  after- 
noon," he  said. 

"Dead,"  said  Barry.  He  turned  to  Cameron.  "I'm 
awfully  sorry,  Duncan." 

"Was  there  anybody  with  him?"  he  enquired  of  the 
doctor.  "He  was  Lieutenant  Cameron's  very  close 
friend,  and  college  companion." 

"Oh,  awfully  sorry,"  replied  the  doctor.  "Yes,  I  think 
Captain  Winter,  the  chaplain  of  the  — th,  was  with  him 
at  the  last.  He's  not  here  just  nowr.  I  can  tell  you  where 
to  get  him.  To-morrow  is  his  day  here." 

"Is — is — is  his  body  still  here?"  enquired  Cameron, 
after  a  few  moments'  silence. 

"Yes,  it's  in  the  next  room.  Do  you  want  to  see  it? 
He  was  pretty  badly  smashed  up,  I'm  afraid." 

"I  think  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Cameron.  "I 
know  his  people,  you  see,  and  I  would  like  to  tell  them 
that  I  saw  him." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  the  doctor.  He  called  an  or- 
derly. 

"Come  this  way,  sir,"  said  the  orderly. 

Together  they  followed  the  orderly  into  the  next  room, 
apparently  a  storehouse  for  grain.  There  lying  upon  the 
floor  they  saw  three  silent  shapes,  wrapped  in  grey  blan- 
kets. 

"This  is  McPherson,  sir,"  said  the  orderly,  looking  at 
the  card  attached  to  the  blanket. 

He  stooped,  drew  down  the  blanket  from  the  face  and 
stepped  back.  In  civil  life,  both  Barry  and  Cameron  had 


230     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

seen  the  faces  of  the  dead,  but  only  in  the  coffin,  after 
having  been  prepared  for  burial  by  those  whose  office  it 
is  to  soften  by  their  art  death's  grim  austerities. 

Cameron  gave  one  swift  glance  at  the  shapeless,  bloody 
mass,  out  of  which  stared  up  at  him  wide-open  glassy 
eyes. 

"Oh,  my  God,  my  God !"  he  gasped,  gripping  Barry  by 
the  arm,  and  staggering  back  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 
He  turned  to  the  door  as  if  to  make  his  escape,  but  Barry, 
himself  white  and  shaken,  held  him  firmly. 

"Steady,  old  boy,"  he  said.     "Steady,  Duncan!" 

"Oh,  let  me  go !    Let  me  get  out  of  here !" 

"Duncan,  there  are  a  lot  of  wounded  chaps  out  there." 

The  boy — he  was  only  nineteen — was  halted  at  the 
word,  stood  motionless  and  then  muttered: 

"You  are  right,  sir.    I  was  forgetting." 

"And,  Duncan,  remember,"  said  Barry,  in  a  quiet  and 
solemn  voice,  "there's  more  than  that  to  McPherson. 
That  fine  young  chap  whom  you  knew  and  loved  is  not 
that  poor  and  battered  piece  of  clay.  Your  friend  has 
escaped  from  death  and  all  its  horrors." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  whispered  Cameron,  still  shaking. 
"We'll  go  out  now,  sir.  I'll  be  all  right.  I  assure  you 
I'm  all  right." 

They  passed  out  into  the  dressing-room  again,  where 
the  wounded  were  continuing  to  arrive.  Cameron  was 
for  departing  at  once,  but  Barry  held  him  back,  unwill- 
ing that  the  lad  should  be  driven  away  beaten  and  un- 
nerved by  what  he  had  seen. 

"I  say,  Duncan,  let's  see  some  of  these  boys.  We  can 
perhaps  cheer  them  up  a  bit  They  need  it  badly  enough, 
God  knows." 

"All  right,"  muttered  Cameron,  sitting  down  upon  a 
bench  in  the  shadow.  They  waited  there  till  Dr.  Gregg 
came  along. 

"Hello,  Dunbar,  you  are  looking  seedy.  Feeling  rot- 
ten, eh?"  said  the  doctor,  eying  him  critically  for  a  few 
moments. 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  231 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right/'  said  Barry.  "The  truth  is,  I've 
just  been  in  there  with  young-  Cameron.  Rather  a  ghastly 
sight.  Cameron's  badly  knocked  up.  Can  you  do  any- 
thing for  him?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully.  "Stay  right 
there  where  you  are.  I'll  bring  you  something  in  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  Now  sit  right  there,  do  you  hear?  Don't 
move." 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  bringing  hot  coffee  for 
them  both. 

"There,"  he  said  in  a  cheerful  matter-of-fact  voice, 
"drink  that." 

Barry  gulped  it  down,  Cameron  taking  his  more  slowly, 
and  with  evident  distaste.  The  doctor  continued  to  con- 
verse with  them  in  tones  of  cheerful  and,  as  Barry 
thought,  of  almost  careless  indifference. 

"Now,  I  must  leave  you,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  see 
there's  a  case  of  shell  shock.  We  didn't  know  how  to 
handle  that  for  a  while.  The  British  R.A.M.C.  for  some 
months  declined  to  recognise  it  as  requiring  treatment  at 
all.  You  might  care  to  look  at  this  chap.  Poor  devil!" 

Barry  had  been  looking  at  the  man  ever  since  he  had 
come  into  the  room,  supported  by  two  of  his  comrades. 
He  was  indeed  an  object  of  pity.  Of  splendid  physique, 
six  feet  and  powerfully  built,  with  the  fine  intelligent 
face  of  an  educated  man,  he  stood  there  white,  twitching 
in  every  muscle,  in  a  state  of  complete  nerve-collapse. 

Colonel  Tait,  who  had  been  observing  hirrt  keenly  ever 
since  his  entering  the  room,  now  approached  him,  greeted 
him  with  a  cheerful  "Hello !"  took  him  by  the  hand  and 
felt  his  pulse. 

"How  are  you,  old  chap  ?  Feeling  a  little  better  than 
you  were,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes — <loc — tor.  Rather — rotten — though —  Be  all 
right — to-morrow " 

"Sure  you  will!  Still  a  little  rest  won't  do  you  any 
harm.  We'll  send  you  down  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and 


232     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

then  you  will  be  fit  enough  to  have  another  go  at  the 
boche." 

So  saying  he  turned  him  over  to  an  assistant,  and  went 
on  with  his  work.  At  this  point  Cameron,  from  whose 
eyes  the  look  of  horror  had  not  yet  faded,  leaned  over 
to  Barry  and  whispered : 

"Let's  get  out  of  this.  For  Heaven's  sake,  this  thing  is 
getting  me."  He  glanced  at  Barry.  "What,  are  you  ill, 
too?" 

"Ill,"  answered  Barry  between  his  clenched  teeth. 
"111?  No,  why  should  I  be  ill?  Look  at  these  boys.  I 
see  myself  ill.  By  Jove!"  he  added  under  his  breath, 
"here's  another  shell  shock.  Sit  down,  Cameron !"  His 
voice  took  on  a  sterner  tone.  "Sit  down.  Don't  be  an 
ass!" 

Once  more  Colonel  Tait  took  in  hand  the  shell-shock 
man.  This  second  was  a  stretcher  case.  The  man  was 
very  violent,  requiring  two  men  to  hold  him  on  his 
stretcher. 

"Oh,  let  him  go!  Let  him  go!"  said  Colonel  Tait. 
"What's  wrong  with  you?"  he  said  to  the  man.  "Have 
you  any  wounds?" 

"No,  sir,"  chattered  the  man  miserably.  "Shell- 
shock, — sir.  Buried — twice — by  a  shell.  Oh!  Ah!" 

The  colonel  had  a  few  moments'  conversation  with 
Gregg,  who  came  over  to  where  Barry  was  sitting  and 
said: 

"I  say,  Dunbar,  watch  this  case.  You  will  see  some 
fun." 

"Fun,"  echoed  Barry,  shaken  and  indignant.  "Not 
much  fun  for  that  poor  chap." 

"Stand  up,"  said  the  colonel  sharply. 

The  man  stood  up  without  much  apparent  difficulty. 

"Ah!"  said  the  colonel.  "Shell  shock.  Bad  case, 
too."  His  voice  was  kind  and  sympathetic.  He  gripped 
the  man  by  the  arm  and  ran  his  hand  down  his  spine 
until  he  came  to  the  small  of  his  back. 

"Pain  there,  eh?"  he  said,  giving  the  man  a  poke. 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  233 

"Yes,  yes !    Ouw !    Doctor.    Awful." 

"Thought  so,"  said  the  doctor.  "Bad  case!  Poor 
chap!  A  curious  feeling  in  the  legs,  eh?" 

The  man  nodded  vigorously,  still  twitching  violently 
and  making  animal  meanings. 

Still  pursuing  his  investigations  and  continuing  to 
sympathise  with  his  patient,  the  doctor  enquired  as  to 
other  symptoms,  to  all  of  which  the  patient  promptly 
confessed.  When  the  examination  was  completed,  the 
doctor  gave  his  man  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back  and  said : 

"You're  all  right,  my  boy.  Go  treat  yourself  to  a  cup 
of  cocoa,  and  a  good,  thick  slice  of  bread  and  rasp- 
berry jam — raspberry,  remember — and  to-morrow  you 
can  report  to  your  battalion  medical  officer." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  man.  "Doctor,  I  can't  go  up 
again.  I'm  not  fit  to  go  up." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,  my  boy.  You'll  be  in  good  fight- 
ing trim  to-morrow.  You'll  see!  You'll  see!  Come 
back  here  some  day,  perhaps,  with  a  V.  C." 

Thereupon  the  man  began  to  swear  violently. 

"Here,  none  of  that,"  said  the  doctor  sharply,  "or  up 
you  go  to-night." 

A  grin  ran  around  the  dressing  station,  in  which  none 
joined  more  heartily  than  the  first  shell-shock  man,  wait- 
ing to  be  conveyed  down  the  line. 

"They  don't  get  by  the  old  man  often,  nowadays," 
was  Dr.  Gregg's  comment. 

"You  don't  often  get  cases  like  this,  though,  do  you?" 
enquired  Barry. 

"Not  often.  We  have  passed  through  this  dressing 
station  some  thousands  of  cases,  and  we  may  have  had 
eight  or  ten  malingerers.  But  this  is  not  all  sham.  There 
is  a  strong  mixture  of  hysteria  and  suggestion  with  the 
sham.  A  chap  with  a  highly  organised  temperament 
gets  buried  by  a  shell.  That  is  a  terrific  nerve  shock. 
He  sees  two  or  three  chaps  blown  to  bits.  Another 
nerve  shock.  Now  he  has  heard  about  shell  shock  as 
a  result  of  a  similar  experience.  Immediately  the  sug- 


234     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

gestion  begins  to  work  and  the  man  discovers  in  him- 
self the  well  known  symptoms  of  genuine  shell  shock, 
and,  begad!  I  don't  wonder.  What  we  have  just  given 
him  is  part  of  the  treatment  for  hysteria — a  little  nerve 
tonic.  A  good  sleep  may  put  him  all  right  by  to-morrow 
morning.  The  chances  are,  however,  that  the  O.  C.  will 
send  him  down  for  a  few  days'  rest  and  change.  If 
so,  the  chap  will  be  as  happy  as  a  clam.  The  boys  will 
rag  him  half  to  death  down  there,  so  that  he  will  be 
keen  to  get  back  again,  and  the  chances  are  may  get 
his  V.  C.  Oh,  we  all  get  scared  stiff,"  laughed  Gregg. 
"We  are  none  of  us  proud  about  here.  That  hero  stuff 
that  you  read  about  in  the  home  papers,  we  don't  know 
much  about.  We  just  'carry  on'." 

"By  Jove,  Gregg!  That's  all  right,  but  to  just  'carry 
on'  in  this  business,  it  seems  to  me,  calls  for  some  pretty 
fine  hero  stuff." 

"Well,  we  don't  call  it  so,"  said  Gregg.  "Now  I'll 
see  about  your  ambulance.  I  believe  there's  one  about 
ready  to  go.  I  think  I  can  find  a  place  for  you  and 
your  friend,  and  it  will  save  you  a  long  walk." 

They  came  away  from  the  old  mill  with  mingled  feel- 
ings. Barry  had  to  a  certain  extent  recovered  from  his 
shock,  and  had  himself  somewhat  firmly  in  hand.  Cam- 
eron was  still  silent  and  obviously  shaken. 

It  was  grey  dawn  when  they  arrived  at  the  camp, 
physically  weary,  nervously  exhausted,  and  sick  at  heart. 
Barry  wakened  Hobbs,  who  greeted  them  with  the  news 
that  the  battalion  was  under  orders  to  go  up  that  night. 
By  his  own  state  Barry  was  able  to  gauge  that  of  his 
friend  Cameron.  The  experiences  of  the  last  ten  hours 
had  been  like  nothing  in  his  previous  life.  The  desola- 
tion wrought  by  war  upon  the  face  of  the  country,  upon 
the  bodies  of  men,  upon  their  souls,  had  sickened  and 
unnerved  him ;  and  this  he  remembered  was  an  experi- 
ence of  only  a  brief  ten  hours.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
profound  self-distrust  and  humiliation,  as  he  thought 
of  those  other  men,  those  medical  officers,  with  their 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  235 

orderlies,  the  ambulance  drivers,  those  wounded  soldiers. 
How  could  they  endure  this  horror,  day  in  and  day  out, 
for  weeks  and  for  months?  In  a  few  hours  he  would 
have  to  meet  his  fellow  officers  and  the  men.  They  could 
not  fail  to  read  in  his  face  all  this  that  he  carried  in  his 
heart. 

By  his  grey,  haggard  face  he  knew  that  the  same  hor- 
ror and  fear  had  gone  deep  into  his  friend's  soul. 
There  came  to  him  the  sudden  thought  that  Cameron, 
too,  must  meet  his  fellow  officers,  and  must  endure  their 
searching  chaff,  and  that  he  would  reveal  himself  to 
his  undoing;  for  no  man  can  ever  live  down  in  his  bat- 
talion the  whisper  that  he  is  a  "quitter."  That  very 
night  Cameron  would  be  forced  to  lead  up  his  platoon 
into  the  front  line,  and  must  lead  them  step  by  step 
over  that  same  Vlammertinghe  road,  where  the  trans- 
ports were  nightly  shelled.  In  the  presence  of  any  dan- 
ger soever,  he  must  not  falter.  When  the  shells  would 
begin  to  fall,  he  knew  well  how  the  eyes  of  his  men 
would  turn  to  their  leader  and  search  his  very  soul  to 
see  of  what  quality  he  was.  Far  better  a  man  should 
die  than  falter.  He  had  not  failed  to  notice  the  startled 
look  in  Cameron's  eyes  when  Hobbs  blurted  out  his 
news.  Some  way  must  be  found  for  the  bracing  up  of 
the  nerve,  the  steadying  of  the  courage  of  his  friend. 

"Come  in  with  me,  Cameron,"  he  said,  standing  at 
the  door  of  his  hut.  "I'm  dead  beat  and  so  are  you. 
We'll  have  coffee  and  some  grub,  and  then  sleep  for  a 
couple  of  hours  until  reveille." 

Cameron  hesitated.  The  thing  he  most  longed  for  at 
that  moment  was  to  be  alone. 

"Come  on!"  insisted  Barry.  "Hobbs  will  have  a  fire 
going,  and  hot  coffee  in  ten  minutes.  Come  on,  old  chap. 
I  want  you  to." 

He  threw  his  arm  around  Cameron's  shoulder  and 
dragged  him  in.  The  boy  dropped  onto  Barry's  cot, 
and,  as  he  was,  boots  and  coat  on,  was  asleep  before  the 
coffee  was  ready.  His  boyish  face,  with  its  haggard 


236     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

look,  struck  pity  to  Barry's  heart,  and  recalled  his  fa- 
ther's words,  "These  boys  need  their  mothers."  If  ever 
a  lad  needed  his  mother,  it  was  young  Cameron,  and 
just  in  that  hour. 

He  woke  the  boy  up,  gave  him  his  coffee,  had  Hobbs 
remove  his  boots,  made  him  undress  and  covered  him 
up  in  his  blankets.  Then,  taking  his  own  coffee,  he  lay 
down  on  Hobbs'  bed. 

"Harry,"  he  said,  "give  us  every  minute  of  sleep  you 
can.  Wake  us  just  one-half  hour  before  reveille  with 
coffee  and  everything  else  good  you  can  rustle,  and, 
Harry,  waken  me  before  Mr.  Cameron." 

When  he  lay  down  to  sleep  he  made  an  amazing 
discovery — that  his  own  horror  and  fear  and  self- 
distrust  had  entirely  passed  away.  He  felt  himself  quite 
prepared  to  "carry  on."  How  had  this  thing  come  to 
pass?  His  physical  recuperation  by  means  of  coffee  and 
food?  This  doubtless  in  part,  but  only  in  part.  In  his 
concern  for  his  friend  he  had  forgotten  himself,  and  in 
forgetting  himself  he  had  forgotten  his  fear.  It  was 
an  amazing  discovery. 

"Thank  the  good  God,"  he  said.  /'He  never  forgets 
a  fellow,  and  I  won't  forget  that." 

He  woke  to  find  Hobbs  at  his  side,  with  coffee,  toast 
and  bacon,  and  on  the  floor  beside  his  cot  his  tub  await- 
ing him — the  tub  being  a  rubber  receptacle  exactly  eight- 
een inches  in  diameter. 

He  hurried  through  his  dressing,  and  his  breakfast,  all 
the  while  Cameron  lying  like  a  dead  man,  and  with  al- 
most a  dead  man's  face. 

Barry  hated  to  waken  him,  but  reveille  was  but  a 
bare  thirty  minutes  off,  and  he  had  an  experiment  to 
work  upon  his  friend. 

"Bring  the  coffee,  Harry.  Not  the  bacon,  yet,"  he 
ordered. 

"Hello,  Cameron,  old  boy !    Wake  up." 

Cameron  rolled  over  with  a  groan  and  opened  his 
eyes,  still  dull  and  heavy  with  sleep. 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  237 

"Here  you  are.  Pipe  this  down  your  tunnel  and  look 
lively,  too.  You  have  got  thirty  minutes — twenty-five, 
really — to  reveille,  and  you  have  your  toilet  to  perform — 
shave,  massage,  manicure  and  all  the  rest — so  go  to  it. 
Here's  your  tub.  You  can't  get  into  it,  but  soap  yourself 
over,  and  Hobbs  will  sluice  you  with  a  pail  or  two 
outside." 

"Why  all  this  Spartan  stuff?  It's  awfully  cold.  I 
think  I'll  content  myself  with  a  nose  rub  this  morning." 

"Get  out  of  bed,  and  be  quick  about  it,"  commanded 
Barry,  "unless  you'd  rather  take  your  tub  where  you 
are." 

So  saying  he  jerked  the  clothes  clear  off  the  cot,  threat- 
ening Cameron  with  the  tub.  Cameron  sprang  up, 
stripped,  soaped  himself  over,  groaning  and  shivering 
the  while;  then  stood  outside  in  the  open,  while  Hobbs 
administered  the  order  of  the  bath,  and  after  a  vigorous 
rub,  came  in  glowing. 

"By  jingo!  That's  bully!  It's  a  pity  a  fellow  can't 
always  feel  just  how  bully  it  is  before  he  takes  it." 

"Na-a-w  then!  a  little  snap!"  ordered  Barry,  in  at- 
tempted imitation  of  the  inimitable  Sergeant  Major 
Hackett.  "A  little  speed,  pie-ease!  That's  better.  I've 
seen  worse — not  often!" 

And  so  he  rattled  on  through  Cameron's  dressing  and 
shaving  operations. 

"Now  then,  'Obbs,  a  little  Delmonico  'ere.  Shove  this 
bacon  against  your  fice,  Cameron." 

"What  about  yours,  sir  ?"  said  Cameron,  as  he  sat  down 
to  the  luxuries  which  somehow  Hobbs  had  "rustled." 

"Had  it,  you  slacker."  Then  with  a  swift  change  of 
voice  and  manner  he  added:  "Listen  to  me,  Cameron. 
I'm  going  to  have  my  prayers.  You  won't  bother  me 
any,  and  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  do  them  out  loud.  Don't 
you  stop  eating,  though.  Hobbs,  stop  your  wandering 
around  there  and  sit  down  and  listen."  Barry  took  his 
Bible. 

"Cameron,"  he  said,  "one  comfort  in  reading  the  Bible 


238     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

to  a  chap  with  a  father  like  yours  is  that  you  know  all 
about  the  thing  already — context,  historical  references 
and  theological  teaching — therefore,  no  need  of  comment. 
Also  you  have  a  good  imagination  to  see  things.  Turn 
on  the  juice  while  I  read.  Hobbs,  you  waken  up,  too." 

Then  he  began  to  read  the  vivid  words  which  picture 
as  in  miniature  etchings  the  life  stories  of  the  heroes 
of  Faith  who  in  their  day  held  their  generation  steady 
and  pointed  the  way  to  duty  and  victory.  As  he  read 
his  face  became  alight,  his  dark  eyes  glowed,  his  voice 
thrilled  under  the  noble  passion  of  the  words  he  read. 
Then  he  came  to  this  stately  peroration : 

"And  what  shall  I  more  say  ?  For  the  time  would  fail 
me  to  tell  of  Gideon,"  and  so  on  through  the  list  of 
heroes,  "Who  through  faith  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought 
righteousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of 
lions,  (of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy).  Where- 
fore seeing  we  also  are  compassed  about  with  so  great 
a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  lay  aside  every  weight,  and 
the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  us,  and  let  us  run  with 
patience  the  race  that  is  set  before  us,  looking  unto 
Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  our  faith,  who,  for  the 
joy  that  was  set  before  him,  endured  the  cross,  despis- 
ing the  shame,  and  is  set  down  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
throne  of  God." 

Both  reader  and  hearers  were  swept  along  upon  the 
tide  of  dramatic  passion.  They  were  themselves  a  part 
of  the  great  and  eternal  conflict  there  pictured ;  they,  too, 
were  called  upon  to  endure  the  cross. 

Cameron  had  forgotten  his  breakfast,  and  with  his 
kindling  eyes  fastened  upon  the  reader's  face,  was  listen- 
ing to  the  noble  music  of  the  thrilling  words, 

Barry  closed  his  book  and  laid  it  down. 

"Great,  eh!  Wonderful  company!  All  the  finest 
and  the  best  of  the  war's  heroes  are  in  it.  Nowr  then; 

prayer "  He  dropped  on  his  knees,  Cameron  and 

Hobbs  following  his  example. 

It  was  a  prayer  chiefly  of  thanksgiving  for  those  who 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  239 

in  their  day  and  in  the  face  of  anguish  and  terror  and 
death  had  kept  the  faith;  of  thanksgiving,  too,  for  all 
who  in  this  present  day  of  sacrifice  in  the  home  land 
and  of  sacrifice  upon  the  field  of  battle  were  keeping 
that  same  faith  for  the  Empire  and  for  this  same  sacred 
cause  of  humanity.  The  prayer  closed  with  a  simple 
petition  that  they  in  the  battalion  might  be  found  worthy 
of  a  humble  place  in  that  great  company. 

As  they  were  repeating  together  the  prayer  "Our 
Father,"  the  notes  of  the  reveille  sounded  shrilly  over 
the  camp. 

"Go  out,  Hobbs,  for  a  minute,"  said  Barry  after  they 
had  risen  from  their  prayer.  He  knew  well  that  Cam- 
eron would  want  a  few  minutes  with  him  alone. 

"Sir,"  said  the  boy,  and  his  voice  was  quiet  and  steady, 
"I'm  not  going  to  try  to  thank  you,  but  I  believe  I  can 
'carry  on'  now." 

"You  bet  you  can,"  said  Barry,  gripping  his  hand. 
"You  bet  you  can !  It's  the  point  of  view  after  all,  old 
man,  isn't  it?  For  ourselves  it  doesn't  matter,  but  we 
have  got  to  think  of  the  boys,  and  we  have  got  to  stay 
with  the  game." 

Eighteen  hours  later  the  relief  was  completed,  and  the 
battalion  was  in  its  place  in  the  line,  all  but  the  sentries 
asleep  in  their  flimsy  dugouts  and  behind  their  rotten 
parapets. 

An  hour  later,  Barry,  who  was  sleeping  with  the  M.O. 
in  the  regimental  aid  post,  was  wakened  from  a  dead 
sleep  by  the  M.  O. 

"There's  something  doing  out  there,"  he  said. 
"Listen!" 

There  was  a  quick  succession  of  sharp  explosions. 

"Bombs!"  said  the  M.O. 

The  explosions  were  followed  by  the  rat-tat-tat — tat- 
tat — tat-tat-tat  of  the  machine  guns.  Instantly  they 
were  both  on  their  feet  and  out  in  the  trench.  . 

"I  guess  Fritzie  is  trying  to  put  something  over  on  us, 


being  our  first  night,"  said  the  M.  O.  "I'll  get  my  boys 
out." 

He  ran  to  the  adjoining  dugout,  where  his  corporal 
and  stretcher  bearers  were  sleeping,  roused  them  and  sent 
them  up  the  trench.  There  was  the  sound  of  subdued 
voices  and  of  quick  marching  feet  along  the  communi- 
cation trench  a  few  yards  away.  They  stood  together 
listening  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I'm  going,"  said  Barry,  hurrying  off  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound.  "Come  on." 

"Captain  Dunbar/'called  the  M.  O.  sharply,  "my  place 
is  here,  and  I  think  this  is  where  you  will  be  most  useful 
as  well.  They  will  bring  the  wounded  to  us  right  here." 

In  a  few  minutes  all  was  still  again,  except  for  the 
machine  guns,  which  still  kept  up  their  incessant  tattoo. 

The  M.  O.  was  correct  in  his  forecast.  In  a  few  min- 
utes down  the  communication  trench  came  a  wounded 
man  walking,  jubilant  in  spite  of  his  wounds. 

"Fritzie  tried  to  put  one  over  on  us,"  he  exclaimed, 
while  the  doctor  was  dabbing  with  iodine  and  tying  up 
his  wounded  arm,  "but  I  think  he's  got  another  guess 
coming.  You  ought  to  have  seen  our  officer,"  he  added. 
"The  first  one  in  the  bunch  to  be  'at  'em.'  With  a  bay- 
onet, too,  mind  you.  Grabbed  one  from  a  private  as 
he  ran  past,  and  bombs  bursting  like  hell  all  around. 
Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  Barry.  "He's 
some  kid,  poor  chap.  He's  got  his,  I  guess." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  the  M.  O. 

"Lieutenant  Cameron,  sir." 

"Cameron!"  cried  Barry.     "Where  is  he?" 

"They  are  carrying  the  stretcher  cases  right  down 
to  the  dressing  station,  I  hear,"  said  the  man. 

"I'm  going,  doc,"  said  Barry,  and  was  off  at  a  run. 

At  the  casualty  clearing  station  there  was  no  excite- 
ment, the  doctors  and  orderlies  "carrying  on"  as  usual, 
receiving  the  wounded,  dressing  their  wounds,  sending 
them  down  with  the  smoothness  and  despatch  character- 
istic of  their  department. 


A  TOUCH  OF  WAR  241 

"Cameron  ?"  said  the  doctor  in  answer  to  Barry's  ques- 
tion. "Why  certainly,  I'll  show  you."  And  he  led  him  to 
Cameron's  cot. 

"Well,  old  chap,"  said  the  doctor  cheerily,  "we're  go- 
ing to  send  you  down  in  a  minute  or  two.  Now  don't 
talk." 

Cameron's  eyes  welcomed  Barry. 

"Dear  old  boy,"  said  Barry,  dropping  on  his  knees  be- 
side him.  "I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"It's  all  right,"  whispered  Cameron.  "They — never — 

knew. — You'll  write  dad — and  tell  him — I  kept " 

The  voice  trailed  off  into  silence.  The  morphia  was  do- 
ing its  merciful  work. 

"Kept  the  faith,"  said  Barry. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Cameron  with  a  smile,  faint  but 
exultant. 

"Good  old  boy,"  whispered  Barry. 

"Yes,  I— kept— I  kept- 

The  bearers  came  to  carry  out  the  stretcher. 

"Will  he  recover?"  whispered  Barry  to  the  doctor. 

"Recover?  Surest  thing  you  know,"  said  the  doctor 
in  a  loud  cheery  voice.  "We  can't  spare  this  kind  of 
stuff,  you  know." 

And  again  Barry  leaned  over  the  stretcher  and  said, 
patting  Cameron  on  the  shoulder : 

"Good  old  boy.  You  make  us  proud  of  you.  You 
kept  the  faith." 


CHAPTER    XV 

THINNING  RANKS 

months  in  that  hell-hole  of  the  salient  have 
made  their  mark  on  this  battalion,"  said  Transport 
Sergeant  Mackay. 

"Yes,  there's  quite  a  lot  of  these  round  the  first  line  and 
back  about  here,"  replied  the  pioneer  sergeant,  who  was 
putting  the  finishing  touches  upon  some  crosses,  that  were 
to  be  sent  up  the  line  that  night. 

"That's  so,  Fatty.  Whose  is  that  cross  you  are  fin- 
ishing?" 

"That's  Lieutenant  Sal  ford's,  a  fine  young  officer  he 
was,  too.  Always  had  a  smile.  The  deeper  the  mud  the 
more  Sally  smiled.  And  this  here  is  Lieutenant  Booth's. 
There's  a  chap  now  that  picked  up  wonderful.  Two 
months  ago  everybody  thought  he  was  a  big  soft  slob, 
and  those  bombers  say  that  he  was  all  right.  And  here's 
the  M.  O.'s.  Poor  old  doc!  There  was  a  man,  now,  if 
there  ever  was  one.  He  wasn't  afraid  of  nothing.  He 
would  go  walking  about  with  a  smile  when  a  bombard- 
ment was  on,  and  in  that  last  big  show  the  other  day, 
they  say  him  and  the  chaplain — there's  another  peach — 
they  'carried  on'  wonderful.  I  wasn't  around  there  at 
the  time,  but  the  boys  at  the  dressing  station  told  me  that 
them  two  worked  back  and  forward  getting  out  the 
wounded,  I  think  they  had  about  thirty  injured  up  at 
that  time,  as  if  it  was  a  kind  of  er  summer  shower  that 
was  falling,  let  alone  H.  E.'s  and  whizzbangs,  and  then 
after  they  got  the  last  man  out,  the  M.  O.  went  in  with 
some  stretcher  bearers,  just  lookin'  around  before  he  left, 
and  a  shell  came  and  got  'em  all,  and  they  say  it  was 
about  the  last  shell  that  was  throwed.  And  that's  where 

242 


THINNING  RANKS 

poor  Harry  Hobbs  got  his,  too.  The  Pilot  went  out  just 
a  minute  before,  and  when  he  came  back  that's  what  he 
saw.  They  say  he  was  terrible  cut  up  over  the  M.  O. 
Funny  thing,  the  M.  O.'s  face  was  just  as  quiet  as  if  he 
had  gone  to  sleep,  but  the  rest  of  the  boys,  well  you  could 
hardly  get  'em  together,  and  the  Pilot  walkin'  up  and 
down  there  lookin'  like  a  lost  man.  We  buried  'em  right 
there  by  Maple  Copse.  I  want  to  tell  you,  sergeant,  that 
that's  the  hardest  job  I  ever  done  in  this  war.  The  Pilot^ 
he  broke  right  down  in  the  middle  of  the  service.  It 
must  have  been  hard  for  him.  I've  been  with  him  now 
at  every  funeral  and  he  stands  up  to  his  work  like  a  man. 
He  takes  it  kind  of  cheery  almost,  but  when  we  was  put- 
tin'  down  the  M.  O.  and  poor  Harry,  the  Pilot  just 
couldn't  appear  to  stand  it.  I  cried  like  a  baby,  and  you 
ought  to  have  seen  the  crowd,  the  O.  C.  and  the  adjutant 
and  the  pioneers,  and  they  are  all  pretty  hardened  up  by 
this  time.  They  have  done  enough  plantin'  anyhow. 
They  just  all  went  to  pieces.  The  shells  was  goin'  over- 
head among  the  trees,  something  awful,  but  nobody 
minded  more  than  if  they  had  been  pea-shooters.  First 
time  I  ever  seen  the  Pilot  break,  and  I  have  been  with 
him  ever  since  the  first  one  we  buried,  and  that  was  big~ 
Jim  Berry.  A  sniper  got  him.  You  don't  remember? 
I  guess  you  don't  see  much  or  get  much  of  the  news 
back  here." 

"Back  here!"  exclaimed  Sergeant  Mackay.  "What 
do  you  mean,  'back  here'  ?  Don't  I  have  to  go  up  every 
night  with  the  transport,  and  through  that  barridge,  too. 
This  aint  no  'safety  first'  job." 

"I  know,  sergeant.  I'm  not  sayin'  you  ain't  at  war. 
Believe  me,  I'd  rather  be  up  front  than  to  go  up  round 
Hell  Fire  Corner  and  come  back  by  the  Menin  Gate  every 
night  like  you  fellows.  I  ain't  sayin'  nothing  about  that, 
but  you  don't  see  things  that  I  see,  and  you  don't  get 
the  news  same  as  I  do.  Now,  about  Jim  Berry,  you 
know,  he  was  goin'  to  do  some  snipin'  in  place  of  Me- 
Cuaig,  who  went  to  the  machine  gun  company." 


244     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"McCuaig,  in  the  machine  gun  company!  I  never 
heard  that." 

"Well,  that's  what  I'm  sayin',"  said  Sergeant  Mat- 
thews, "you  don't  get  some  of  the  chances  to  get  news 
down  here,  same  as  me.  You  see,  when  we're  sewin'  up 
the  boys  and  fixin'  'em  up  like,  and  when  we're  fixin' 
up  the  graves  and  puttin'  on  the  crosses,  you  get  kind 
of  thinkin'  about  things,  and  kind  of  lonesome,  and  so 
the  boys  keep  telling  the  news  to  cheer  themselves  up, 
and  that's  how  I  heard  about  McCuaig.  You  see,  Mc- 
Cuaig was  snipin'  the  first  tour,  and  he's  a  killer,  you 
bet,  and  he  had  only  cut  three  natches  in  his  rifle.  The 
boys  say  he  had  got  four  of  the  Huns,  but  he  had  only 
put  down  three  natches  on  his  rifle  to  be  sure,  and  after 
he  seen  the  machine  gun  work,  stoppin'  a  raid,  he  comes 
to  the  officer,  and  says  he,  givin'  him  his  rifle:  'Say, 
this  is  all  right  for  sport,  but  it  ain't  good  enough  for 
killin'  these  devils.  I'd  like  to  get  on  to  your  gang, 
if  I  can,'  and  they  put  him  right  onto  the  machine  gun. 
Say,  he's  sleepin'  with  that  Lewis  gun  ever  since.  Just 
pets  it  like  a  baby.  What  was  I  tellin'  you?  Oh,  yes, 
about  McCuaig  and  Jim  Berry.  Well,  he  took  McCuaig's 
place  snipin'  and  a  good  sniper  he  was  too.  He  used  to 
hunt,  you  know,  up  in  the  mountains  with  Jim  Knight 
every  fall.  Well,  he  started  out  snipin'  the  day  after 
McCuaig  quit,  and  McCuaig  gave  him  his  rifle  too,  and 
took  him  up  to  the  'hide.'  Well,  big  Jim  was  always  a 
careless  cuss,  you  know.  He  gets  his  eye  on  the  hole, 
sightin'  his  rifle,  and  McCuaig  was  watchin'  through  one 
of  them  new  things " 

"Perry's  scope." 

"Yes,  that's  it,  Paris  cope.  Them  French  is  mighty 
smart  fellows,  you  bet.  When  along  walks  a  Hun. 
'There  he  comes!'  sings  out  McCuaig.  'Didn't  see  him 
until  he  got  past,'  says  Jim,  pretty  mad,  because  Jim 
hated  to  show  that  he'd  got  'buck  fever,'  or  something, 
and  waited  for  the  next.  'Here  he  comes!'  says  Mc- 
Cuaig, again.  'Bang!'  goes  Jim.  'I've  got  him,'  he 


THINNING  RANKS  245 

shouts,  hoppin'  up  to  get  a  good  look,  when  McCuaig 
grabs  him  and  jerks  him  down,  swearin'  somethin' 
awful,  and  tellin'  him  he  wasn't  shootin'  no  mountain 
goats.  'Oh  shaw!'  says  Jim.  'They  can't  get  me.' 
'You  keep  your  head  down,  Jim,'  said  McCuaig.  That's 
the  very  last  words  he  said  to  him,  just  as  he  was  leavin' 
him.  He  wasn't  down  the  next  day  when  bang!  goes 
Jim's  rifle,  and  again  up  he  jumps  to  see  what  he'd  got, 
when  ping!  goes  a  Boche  bullet  right  through  his  head. 
You  know  McCuaig  was  real  mad,  and  he  stood  quiet 
at  that  hole  for  three  hours.  Then  he  got  Corporal 
Thorn  to  shove  up  a  hat  on  a  rifle,  when  ping!  comes 
the  bullet  and  bang!  goes  Jim's  rifle.  'Guess  he  won't 
shoot  no  more,  unless  there's  shootin'  in  hell,'  says  he, 
and  makes  another  natch.  Say,  the  boys  all  felt  bad 
about  Jim  and  so  did  the  Pilot.  Well,  we  had  to  plant 
him  that  night,  as  we  was  goin'  out  next  day.  It  was 
out  beyond  the  Loop.  You  don't  know  where  that  is,  I 
guess." 

"Of  course,  I  do,"  asserted  Mackay  indignantly.  "I've 
been  all  around  that  front  line.  What  are  you  givin' 
us!" 

"Oh,  you  have,  eh !  Well,  I  wouldn't  unless  I  had  to, 
you  bet.  It's  no  place  for  a  man  with  a  waist  line  like 
mine.  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  that  cemetery  was  right 
out  in  the  open,  right  under  observation,  and  exposed 
to  machine  guns,  snipers,  whizbangs,  all  the  hull  bloody 
lot  of  'em.  Wasn't  no  place  for  a  cemetery  anyway,  I 
say.  I'm  not  after  any  bomb  proof  job  but  a  cemetery 
should  be " 

"Should  be  a  quiet  and  retired  spot,"  suggested  one 
of  the  transport  boys. 

"Yes.  What's  the  use  of  getting  livin'  men  shot  up 
when  they're  buryin'  dead  men,  I  want  to  know.  Not 
saying  anything  about  the  officers  that's  always  round, 
and  the  chaplain.  I  say  a  cemetery  should  be  some- 
where out  of  sight,  like  Maple  Copse;  now,  there's  a 
good  place,  except  that  the  roots  make  it  hard  diggin'. 


246     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Up  against  a  railway  bank  like  that  down  at  Zillebeck, 
by  the  Railway  Dugouts,  there's  a  lovely  place." 

"How  would  the  Ramparts  do,  sergeant?"  enquired 
another  transport  lad. 

"Ramparts?  You  mean  at  Ypres?  Yes,"  said  the 
sergeant,  with  a  grin,  "but  I'd  hate  to  turn  out  the 
Brigade  Headquarters  Staff." 

"Go  on,  sergeant." 

"Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  that's  no  place  for  a  cemetery 
up  there  beyond  the  Loop,  but  I  didn't  know  so  much 
about  it  then,  you  bet.  That's  where  we  had  to  bury 
Jim.  It  was  a  awful  black  night,  and  of  course,  just  as 
we  got  out  to  the  trench  to  go  'overland'  to  the  ceme- 
tery, them  flares  started  up  something  awful.  I  don't 
know  what  they  was  lookin'  for,  but  when  they  went 
up,  I  want  to  tell  you,  I  felt  about  the  size  of  a  tree, 
and  I  wisht  I  was  one.  Well,  Jim,  you  know,  was  pretty 
heavy,  an  awful  heavy  carry  he  was  for  the  boys.  I  was 
tryir?  to  hurry  'em  along,  but  that  Pilot,  he  heads  the 
procession,  and  on  he  goes  at  a  funeral  march  pace. 
Now  I  believe  in  doin'  things  right.  I've  heard  of  some 
pioneers  that  hurries  their  job.  I  don't  believe  in  that, 
but  when  you  are  going  across  the  open  on  a  dark 
night,  with  them  flares  going  up,  I  say  between  flares 
is  a  good  time  to  get  a  move  on,  but,  no,  that  there  Pilot, 
he  just  goes  that  pace  and  no  more.  I  want  to  tell  you 
the  boys  was  nervous  and  the  officers  too.  The  O.  C. 
and  Major  Bustead  was  there.  I  could  see  the  major 
fusein'  to  get  on.  Well,  we  got  Jim  down  all  right, 
and  just  as  the  Pilot  got  started,  darned  if  they  didn't 
open  up  the  biggest  kind  of  a  machine  gun  chorus  you 
ever  heard." 

"What  did  you  do,  sergeant?" 

"Me?  Well,  I  started  huggin'  mud  and  saying  all  the 
good  words  I  could  think  of.  Even  the  O.  C.  got  down 
on  his  knees,  and  the  major,  he  near  got  into  the  grave, 
but  that  darned  Pilot  stood  up  there  getting  taller  every 
minute,  and  goin'  on  with  his  prayer,  and  the  boys 


THINNING  RANKS  247 

sayin'  'Amen!'  that  loud  and  emphatic  that  I  thought 
he'd  take  the  hint  and  cut  out  somethin',  but  cut  out 
nothin' !  Seemed  as  if  his  memory  was  workin'  over 
time,  the  way  he  kept  a  fetchin'  up  things  that  he  couki 
a  easily  forgot,  and  when  he  comes  to  the  benediction, 
the  whizbangs  begin  to  come.  Up  goes  his  hand,  the 
way  they  do.  I  thought  to  myself  that  that  was  a  kind 
of  unnecessary  display.  I  looks  up  and  there  he  was, 
more  like  a  tree  than  ever.  In  fact,  I  says  to  myself—- 
it's queer  how  you  think  things  at  times  like  that — 
darned  if  they  won't  think  the  darned  fool  is  a  tree, 
for  nothin'  but  a  darned  tree  would  stand  up  in  the 
flare  light  and  look  so  much  like  a  tree  anyhow.  I 
guess  that's  what  saved  him.  He  never  moved  until  he 
was  done,  and  then  didn't  he  stay  with  us  pioneers  after 
the  rest  had  gone  until  we  filled  up.  Say,  he's  all  right." 

"You  bet  he's  all  right,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay,  "and 
he's  gettin'  in  his  work  with  the  boys." 

"What  do  you  mean,  'gettin'  in  his  work'?"  enquired 
the  pioneer  sergeant. 

"Oh,  well,  you  know,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay  awk- 
wardly, "he's  makin'  'em  think  a  lot  different  about 
things.  I  know  he  has  'em  tied  up  all  right  in  their 
language."  And  this  was  as  near  to  a  confession  of 
faith  as  the  sergeant  cared  to  go. 

"Oh,  I  can  see  a  difference  myself  up  the  line,"  said 
the  pioneer  sergeant,  "^'he  boys  used  to  get  out  of 
his  way.  He  used  to  jump  on  'em  something  fierce.  You 
remember?" 

"Huh-uh!" 

"Well,  they  just  love  to  have  him  drop  in  now  and  they 
tell  him  things.  I  saw  Corporal  Thorn  the  other  night 
showin'  him  his  girl's  picture,  and  the  Pilot  thought 
she  was  a  fine  girl  too,  and  got  her  address  down,  and 
said  he  was  going  to  write  her  and  tell  her  what  a  fine 
chap  the  corporal  was,  and  you  ought  to  see  Corporal 
Thom  swell  up  until  he  'most  bust  his  tunic." 


24,8     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Oh,  I  know  the  corporal's  dippy  about  the  Pilot," 
said  Sergeant  Mackay. 

"Yes,  and  the  officers,  too,"  said  the  pioneer  ser- 
geant. "There's  Captain  Duff.  Well,  you  know  what  a 
holy  terror  he  is." 

"He's  all  right,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay  stoutly.  "He 
was  my  chief  for  about  a  month  here,  and  he  was  the 
first  one  to  get  this  transport  licked  into  shape,  you 
bet." 

"I'm  not  saying  anything  against  Captain  Duff,  but 
he  was  a  roughneck,  you  know  well  enough,  and  I  guess 
he  hadn't  much  use  for  the  Pilot." 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay. 
"The  Pilot  used  to  go  up  with  us  on  the  transport.  It 
was' awful  hard  on  Captain  Duff,  handlin'  the  column  and 
the  mules  and  all  the  rest,  to  hold  in  when  the  Pilot  was 
along.  The  captain,  he  had  to  come  round  now  and 
then  to  the  rear.  There  he  would  have  a  lovely  time 
for  a  few  minutes,  with  the  Pilot  safe  up  in  front.  But 
the  Pilot  calmed  him  down  all  right." 

"Yes,  and  there's  that  young  Captain  Fraser,"  said  the 
pioneer  sergeant,  with  a  note  of  enthusiasm  in  his 
monotonous  voice.  "There  a  soldier.  He  just  loved 
fightin'.  I  remember  the  night  he  got  his  wound.  It  was 
on  a  raid  of  course.  If  there  was  a  raid  on,  Captain  Neil 
was  sure  to  be  there.  He  just  about  got  his  arm  blown 
off,  but  they  say  he's  goin'  to  be  all  right.  I  was  at  the 
regimental  aid  post  when  they  fetched  him  in.  Oh,  he 
was  a  dirty  mess,  face  all  cut  up,  and  his  arm  hangin', 
and  not  a  word  out  of  him  until  the  Pilot  comes  along. 
Then  he  begins  to  chirp  up  and  the  Pilot  starts  jollyin' 
him  along  one  minute  and  sayin'  Psalms  to  him  the  next 
minute,  and  little  prayers,  and  the  boys  around  listenin', 
sometimes  grinnin'  and  sometimes  all  choked  up,  but  I'm 
awful  glad  Captain  Neil  is  comin'  round  all  right." 

By  this  time  the  pioneer  sergeant  had  his  crosses  fin- 
ished. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  he  set  the  crosses  against  the  wall, 


THINNING  RANKS 

"there's  three  of  the  finest  officers  we  ever  had  in  this 
battalion.  You  take  'em  up  to-night  when  you  go,  ser- 
geant" 

"We're  not  going  up  to-night.  The  boys  are  coming 
out  this  evening,"  replied  Sergeant  Mackay. 

"No?  Is  that  so?  I  never  heard  that.  Guess  I'll 
have  to  go  up  with  some  other  outfit.  Comin'  out  this 
evening?  Well,  it's  time  they  were.  They've  had  one 
hell  all  the  time,  I  hear,  this  tour." 

"Yes,"  continued  Sergeant  Mackay,  "and  the  High- 
landers are  sending  up  their  band  to  meet  them  and  play 
them  out.  I  call  that  a  mighty  fine  thing  to  do.  You 
know  our  own  band  had  to  go  up  with  water  and  ra- 
tions last  night,  and  they  can't  get  out  until  to-night. 
So  the  Highlanders'  band " 

"Pretty  good  band,  too,  isn't  it?" 

"Best  pipe  band  in  the  army,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay 
with  enthusiasm. 

"Oh,  a  pipe  band!"  exclaimed  the  pioneer  sergeant 
in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"Yes,  a  pipe  band,  what  else?"  enquired  Sergeant 
Mackay  truculently. 

"Why  don't  they  send  up  their  real  band,  when  they're 
doin'  it,  anyway?" 

"What!"  shouted  Sergeant  Mackay.  "I'll  tell  you. 
For  the  same  reason  that  they  don't  make  you  O.  C. 
in  this  battalion,  you  damned  fat  lobster!  There  now, 
you've  started  me  swearin'  again,  and  I  was  quittin'  it." 

Sergeant  Mackay's  wrath  at  the  slur  cast  upon  the  pipe 
band,  the  only  band,  in  his  opinion,  worthy  of  any  real 
man's  attention,  was  intensified  by  his  lapse  into  his 
habit  of  profanity,  which,  out  of  deference  to  the  Pilot, 
he  for  some  weeks  had  been  earnestly  striving  to  hold  in 
check. 

"Oh  well,  Scotty,  don't  spoil  your  record  for  me.  I 
guess  a  pipe  band  is  all  right  for  them  that  likes  that 
kind  of  music.  For  me,  I  can't  ever  tell  when  they  quit 
tunin'  up  and  begin  to  play." 


260     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Sergeant  Mackay  looked  at  him  with  darkening  face, 
evidently  uncertain  as  to  what  course  he  should  adopt — 
whether  to  "turn  himself  loose"  upon  this  benighted 
Englishman  or  to  abandon  him  to  his  deserved  condi- 
tion of  fatuous  ignorance.  He  decided  upon  the  latter 
course.  In  portentous  silence  he  turned  his  back  upon 
Fatty  Matthews  and  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  line 
to  get  a  mule  back  over  the  rope.  It  took  him  some  little 
time  for  the  mule  had  his  own  mind  about  the  manoeuvre 
and  the  sergeant  was  unwontedly  deliberate  and  gentle 
with  him.  Then,  the  manoeuvre  executed,  he  walked 
slowly  back  to  the  pioneer  sergeant  and  in  restrained 
and  carefully  chosen  speech  addressed  him. 

"Look  here,  Fatty,  I'm  askin'  you,  don't  you  ever  say 
things  like  that  outside  of  these  lines,  for  the  sake  of 
the  regiment,  you  know.  I'd  really  hate  the  other  bat- 
talions to  know  we  had  got  such "  He  halted  him- 
self abruptly  and  then  proceeded  more  quietly,  "A  man 
as  you  in  this  battalion.  My  God,  Fatty,  they'd  think 
your  brains  had  run  down  into  your  pants.  I  know  they 
haven't,  because  I  know  you  haven't  any."  He  took  a 
fresh  breath,  and  continued  his  address  in  a  tone  of 
patient  remonstrance.  "Why,  man,  don't  you  know  that 
wherever  the  British  Army  has  gone,  its  Highland  regi- 
ments have  cleared  the  way;  and  that  when  the  pipes 
get  playin'  the  devil  himself  couldn't  hold  them  back?" 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Fatty  innocently.  "They  make 
a  man  feel  like  fightin'  all  right." 

Sergeant  Mackay  scanned  his  face  narrowly,  uncer- 
tain as  to  whether  he  should  credit  the  pioneer  sergeant 
with  intelligence  sufficient  to  produce  a  sarcasm. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  exclaimed  Fatty,  seeking  to  ap- 
pease the  wrathful  transport  sergeant,  "when  you  hear 
them  pipes,  you  get  so  stirred  up,  you  know,  that  you 
just  feel  like  killin'  somebody." 

This  apparently  did  not  improve  matters  with  Ser- 
geant Mackay. 

"Oh,  darn  it,  you  know  what  I  mean !" 


THINNING  RANKS  251 

"No,  Fatty,"  said  the  sergeant  solemnly.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  mean,  but  I'll  suggest  this  to  you,  Fatty. 
You  go  down  to  that  Pete  mule,  down  there  at  the  end 
of  the  line  and  talk  to  him.  I  guess  he'll  understand  you. 
I'm  busy  just  now." 

"I  don't  /see  what  you're  so  hot  about,"  said  the 
pioneer  sergeant  in  an  aggravated  voice,  "but  I'm  going 
to  see  the  boys  come  in  anyway." 

When  the  distant  sound  of  the  pipes  coming  from  the 
direction  of  the  front  line  was  heard  in  camp,  men  of 
the  various  transport  lines  and  base  units  lined  up  to 
watch  the  battalion  come  in.  For  the  rumour  had  run 
that  they  had  had  a  bad  go,  that  they  had  beaten  back 
no  less  than  three  rather  formidable  raids  of  the  enemy 
and  had  been  badly  cut  up.  More  than  that,  by  reason 
of  the  lack  of  reinforcements,  they  had  had  to  do  a 
double  tour,  so  that  they  were  returning  from  an  ex- 
perience of  thirteen  days,  in  what  was  indeed  the  veri- 
table mouth  of  hell. 

"I  guess  they  are  all  pretty  well  all  in,"  said  Sergeant 
Matthews,  who,  standing  with  his  pioneers,  had  been 
carefully  avoided  by  his  friend  Sergeant  Mackay.  That 
enthusiastic  Scot  had  for  the  time  being  abandoned  his 
transport,  and  was  fraternising  with  the  transport  men 
of  the  Highlanders,  with  whom  he  was  sure  he  would 
feel  himself  in  more  complete  accord. 

"Here  they  come,  boys,"  said  a  Scot,  as  the  sound  of 
the  pipes  grew  louder.  "There's  a  drummer  for  ye.  Lis- 
ten 'til  that  double  roll,  wull  ye  ?" 

"Ay,  Danny,  the  boys  will  be  shovin*  out  their  chests 
and  hitchin'  their  hips  about  something  awful." 

"Ye  may  say  that,  Hec.  Will  ye  look  at  young  Angus 
on  the  big  drum,  man,  but  he  has  got  the  gr-rand  style 
on  him." 

"Ay,  boys,  they  are  the  la-ads,"  said  Sergeant  Mac- 
kay, yielding  to  the  influence  of  his  environment  and 
casually  dropping  into  the  cadence  of  the  Highlanders 
about  him,  which,  during  his  ten  years  in  the  west,  his 


252     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

tongue  had  well-nigh  lost.  "It's  a  very  fine  thing,  your 
pipers  are  doing,  playing  our  boys  out  in  this  way,  and 
we  won't  be  forgetting  that  in  a  hurry." 

"Why  for  no?"  enquired  Hec,  in  surprise.  "It's  the 
Highlanders  themselves  that  love  a  bonny  fighter." 

Down  the  road,  between  lines  of  silent  men,  came  the 
pipers  with  waving  kilts  and  flying  tartans,  swinging 
along  in  their  long  swaying  stride,  young  Angus  doing 
wonders  on  the  big  drum,  with  his  whirling  sticks,  and 
every  piper  blowing  his  loudest,  and  marching  his  proud- 
est. Behind  them  came  the  men  of  the  battalion  march- 
ing at  attention,  their  colonel  at  their  head,  grave  of 
face  and  steady.  Behind  the  colonel  marched  Major 
Bayne,  in  place  of  the  senior  major,  whom  illness  had 
prevented  from  accompanying  the  battalion  on  this  last 
tour,  no  longer  rotund  and  cheery  as  was  his  wont,  but 
with  face  grey,  serious  and  deep  lined.  After  him  at 
the  head  of  A  Company  marched  Captain  Duff,  his  rug- 
ged, heavy  face  looking  thinner  and  longer  than  its  wont 
but  even  fiercer  than  ever.  With  eyes  that  looked  straight 
before  them,  heedless  of  the  line  of  silent  onlookers,  the 
men  marched  on,  something  in  their  set,  haggard  faces 
forbidding  applause.  At  the  rear  of  the  column  marched 
the  chaplain  alone,  and  every  one  knew  that  he  had  left 
up  in  the  Salient  behind  him  his  friend  and  comrade,  the 
M.  O.,  whose  place  in  all  other  marching  had  been  at  his 
right  hand.  All  knew  too  how  during  this  last  go,  in  the 
face  of  death  in  its  most  terrifying  form,  they  had  car- 
ried out  their  wounded  comrades  one  by  one  until  all 
were  brought  to  safety.  And  all  knew  too,  how  the  chap- 
lain carried  with  him  that  day  a  sore  and  lonely  heart  for 
the  loss  of  one  who  was  more  to  him  than  batman,  and 
who  had  become  his  loyal  and  devoted  friend.  The 
chaplain's  face  was  gaunt  and  thin,  with  hollow  cheeks, 
but  for  all  that,  it  wore  a  look  of  serene  detachment. 

"Say,  he  looks  awful  tough,"  said  a  voice  in  Sergeant 
Mackay's  ear. 


THINNING  RANKS  253 

Sergeant  Mackay  turned  sharply  around  upon  Fatty 
Matthews. 

"Tough!  Tough!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  choke  in  his 
voice.  "You're  a  damned  liar,  that's  what  you  are.  He 
looks  fine.  He  looks  fine,"  he  added  again  iuriously. 
"He  looks  as  if  hell  itself  couldn't  scare  him." 

In  the  sergeant's  eyes  strange  lights  were  glisten- 
ing. 

"Yes,  you're  right,  sergeant,"  said  Fatty  Matthews 
humbly.  "You're  right,  and  that's  where  he's  been,  too,  I 
guess." 

Bravely  and  gallantly,  with  the  historic  and  immor- 
tal "Cock  o'  the  North"  shrilling  out  on  the  evening  air, 
the  pipers  played  them  on  to  the  battalion  parade 
ground,  where  they  halted,  silent  still  and  with  that 
strange  air  of  detached  indifference  still  upon  them. 
They  had  been  through  hell.  Nothing  else  could  sur- 
prise them.  All  else,  indeed,  seemed  paltry. 

Briefly,  but  with  heart-reaching  words,  the  colonel 
thanked  the  pipers  for  what  he  called  "an  act  of  fine 
and  brotherly  courtesy."  Then  turning  to  his  men,  he 
spoke  a  few  words  before  dismissal. 

"Men,  you  have  passed  through  a  long  and  hard  time 
of  testing.  You  have  not  failed.  I  am  not  going  to 
praise  you,  but  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  proud  of 
you.  Proud  to  be  your  commanding  officer.  I  know 
that  whatever  is  before  us,  you  will  show  the  same  spirit 
of  endurance  and  courage. 

"We  have  lost  this  time  twenty-nine  men,  eleven  of 
them  killed,  and  with  these  three  very  brave  and  very 
gallant  officers,  among  them  our  medical  officer,  a  very 
great  loss  to  this  battalion.  These  men  did  their  duty 
to  the  last.  We  loved  them.  We  shall  miss  them,  but 
to-day  we  are  proud  of  them.  Let  us  give  three  cheers 
for  our  gallant  dead." 

With  no  joyous  outburst,  but  with  a  note  of  fierce, 
strained  determination,  came  the  cheers.  In  spite  of 
all  he  could  do,  Barry  could  not  prevent  a  shudder  as  he 


254     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

heard  the  men  about  him  cheering  for  those  whom  he 
had  so  recently  seen  lying,  some  of  them  sorely  muti- 
lated, in  their  grey  blankets. 

"Now,  men,"  concluded  the  O.  C,  "we  must  'carry 
on.'  You  will  have  a  couple  of  hours  in  which  to  clean 
up  and  have  supper,  and  then  we  shall  have  to-night  a 
cinema  show,  to  which  I  hope  you  will  all  come,  and 
which  I  hope  you  will  ail  greatly  enjoy." 

The  colonel's  little  speeches,  as  a  rule,  elicited  appre- 
ciative cheers,  but  this  afternoon  there  was  only  a  grave 
silence.  After  dismissal,  the  men  went  to  their  huts 
and  were  soon  busy  giving  themselves  a  "high  mark 
scrub"  preliminary  to  the  hot  bath  and  "jungle  hunt" 
in  which  they  would  indulge  themselves  to-morrow. 

As  Barry  was  moving  off  the  parade  ground,  the 
junior  major  caught  up  to  him,  and  took  him  by  the  arm 
and  said  : 

"I  have  sent  around  my  batman  to  your  hut.  He  will 
look  after  you  until  I  can  pick  out  a  man  from  the  new 
draft.  We  all  know  how  you  feel  about  Hobbs,  old 
man." 

"Thank  you,  major,"  said  Barry  quietly.  "I  appre- 
ciate that." 

"You  will  be  around  to-night,"  continued  the  major. 

"No,  I  think  not.  I  have  a  lot  of  things  to  do.  All 
those  letters  to  write."  Barry  shuddered 'as  he  spoke. 
For  nothing  in  all  his  ministerial  experience  was  to  him 
a  more  exhausting  and  heartbreaking  task  than  the  writ- 
ing of  these  letters  to  the  relatives  and  friends  of  his 
dead  comrades. 

"I  think  you  had  better  come,"  said  the  major  earn- 
estly. "I  know  the  O.  C.  would  like  it,  and  the  boys 
would  like  it  too." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Barry.    "Then  I'll  be  there." 

"Good  man,"  said  IVIajor  Bayne,  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "That's  the  stuff  we  like  in  this  battalion." 

Barry  found  his  hut  in  order,  his  things  out  for  airing, 
his  tub  ready,  and  supper  in  preparation. 


THINNING  RANKS  255 

"Thanks,  Monroe,"  he  said  to  Major  Bayne's  batman, 
as  he  passed  into  his  hut. 

As  he  entered  his  hut  and  closed  the  door,  for  the 
first  time  there  swept  over  his  soul  an  appalling  and 
desolating  sense  of  loneliness.  It  was  his  first  moment 
of  quiet,  his  first  leisure  to  think  of  himself  for  almost 
two  weeks.  With  the  loss  of  his  batman  there  had  been 
snapped  the  last  link  with  that  old  home  life  of  his,  now 
so  remote  but  all  the  dearer  for  that.  It  came  to  him 
that  while  he  remained  a  soldier,  this  was  to  be  his  con- 
tinual experience.  Upon  his  return  from  every  tour  new 
gaps  would  stare  at  him.  Up  in  the  lines  they  did  not 
so  terribly  obtrude  themselves,  but  back  here  in  rest 
billets  they  thrust  themselves  upon  him  like  hideous 
mutilations  upon  a  well  loved  face.  He  could  hardly 
force  himself  to  remove  his  muddy,  filthy  clothes.  He 
would  gladly  have  laid  himself  down  upon  his  cot  just  as 
he  was,  and  given  himself  up  to  the  luxury  of  his  grief 
and  loneliness,  until  sleep  should  come,  but  his  life  as  a 
soldier  had  taught  him  something.  These  months  of 
discipline,  and  especially  these  last  months  of  compan- 
ionship with  his  battalion  through  the  terrible  experi- 
ences of  war,  had  wrought  into  the  very  fibre  of  his  life 
a  sense  of  unity  with  and  responsibility  for  his  com- 
rades. His  every  emotion  of  loss,  of  grief,  of  heart- 
sickness  carried  with  it  the  immediate  suggestion  and 
remembrance  that  his  comrades  too  were  passing  through 
a  like  experience,  and  this  was  his  salvation.  Weary, 
sick,  desolate  as  he  felt  himself  in  this  hour,  he  remem- 
bered that  many  of  his  comrades  were  as  he,  weary,  and 
sick  and  desolate.  He  wondered  how  the  major's  bat- 
man felt. 

"Well,  Monroe,"  he  said  with  an  attempt  at  a  voice 
of  cheer,  "pretty  tough  go  this  time." 

"Yes,  sir,  very  tough,"  said  Monroe.  "I  lost  my  chum 
this  time,"  he  added  after  a  few  moments'  silence. 

"Poor  chap,"  said  Barry.  "I'm  awfully  sorry  for  you. 
It's  hard  to  leave  a  friend  up  there." 


256     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"It  is  that,  sir,"  replied  Monroe,  and  then  he  added 
hurriedly  but  with  hesitation,  "and  if  you  will  pardon 
me,  sir,  we  all  know  it's  awful  tough  for  you.  The  boys 
all  feel  for  you,  sir,  believe  me." 

The  unexpected  touch  of  sympathy  was  too  much 
for  Barry's  self-control.  A  rush  of  warm  tears  came 
to  his  eyes  and  choked  his  voice.  For  some  minutes  he 
busied  himself  with  his  undressing,  but  Monroe  con- 
tinued speaking. 

"Yes,  sir,  the  Wapiti  bunch  is  getting  pretty  small. 
Corporal  Thorn  was  with  me " 

"Corporal  Thorn !"  cried  Barry.  "Was  Corporal  Thorn 
your  chum?" 

"Yes,  sir,  for  six  years  we  was  on  the  Bar  U.  M. 
together.  We  was  awful  close  friends.  He  was  a  good 
chum." 

"Corporal  Thorn!"  exclaimed  Barry  again;  "he  was 
your  chum !  He  was  a  great  friend  of  mine  too.  You 
have  indeed  suffered  a  great  loss." 

"He  thought  a  lot  of  you,  sir,"  said  Monroe.  "He 
has  often  talked  to  me  about  you." 

"But  what  a  splendid  death!"  cried  Barry.  "Per- 
fectly glorious!" 

"I  didn't  hear,  sir,"  said  Monroe;  "I  came  down  three 
days  ago,  and  only  heard  that  a  bomb  got  him." 

"Oh,  splendid,"  said  Barry.  "Nothing  finer  in  the 
war.  Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  There  was  an  enemy 
raid  coming  up.  The  corporal  had  got  wind  of  it  and 
called  his  men  out.  They  rushed  into  the  front  line 
bay.  Just  as  they  got  there,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  a 
live  bomb  fell  hissing  among  them.  They  all  rushed 
to  one  end  of  the  bay,  but  the  corporal  kicked  the 
bomb  to  the  other  end,  and  then  threw  himself  on  top 
of  it.  He  was  blown  to  pieces,  but  no  one  else  was 
hurt." 

During  the  recital  of  this  tale,  Monroe  stood  looking  at 
Barry  and  when  he  had  finished  his  eyes  were  shining 
with  tears. 


THINNING  RANKS  257 

"Ay,  sir,  he  was  a  man,  sir,"  he  said  at  length. 

"Yes,  you  have  said  it,  Monroe.  He  was  a  man,  just 
a  common  man,  but  uncommonly  like  God,  for  He  did 
the  same  thing.  He  gave  Himself  for  us." 

Monroe  turned  away  to  his  work  in  silence. 

"Monroe,"  said  Barry,  calling  him  back,  "look  here, 
lad,  it  would  not  be  right  for  us  to  grieve  too  much  for 
Corporal  Thorn.  We  ought  to  be  thankful  for  him  and 
proud  of  him,  should  we  not?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know,  sir,  but,"  he  added  while  his  lip 
trembled,  "you  hate  to  lose  your  chum." 

Only  under  compulsion  of  his  conscience  did  Barry 
go  to  the  cinema  show  that  night,  which  in  this  camp  was 
run  under  the  chaplain  service  and  by  a  chaplain.  He 
knew  what  the  thing  would  be  like.  His  whole  soul 
shrunk  from  the  silly,  melodramatic  films  which  he  knew 
would  constitute  the  programme  as  from  a  nauseating 
dose  of  medicine.  The  billboard  announced  a  double 
header,  a  trite  and,  especially  to  Canadians,  a  ridiculous 
representation  of  the  experiences  of  John  Bull  and  his 
wife  and  pretty  daughter  as  immigrants  to  the  Canadian 
Northwest,  which  was  to  be  followed  by  the  immortal 
Charlie  Chaplin. 

The  cinema  hut  was  jammed — the  whole  battalion, 
now  much  reduced  in  numbers,  officers  and  men  being 
present,  and  with  them  the  men  of  the  base  units  and 
transports  of  other  battalions.  It  was  in  some  senses 
an  unusual  gathering.  There  was  an  entire  absence  of 
the  wonted  chaff  and  uproarious  horseplay;  instead  a 
grave  and  almost  bored  air  rested  upon  the  men's  faces. 
The  appalling  experiences  of  the  past  thirteen  days  seemed 
to  dwarf  all  other  things  in  comparison.  They  had  been 
in  the  presence  of  the  Big  Thing;  all  else  seemed  petty; 
they  had  been  looking  into  death's  cold  eyes;  after  that 
other  sights  seemed  trivial.  Many  of  them  carried  sore 
hearts  for  their  comrades  with  whom  they  had  at  other 
times  foregathered  in  just  such  circumstances  as  these, 
but  nevermore  again. 


258     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

It  was  the  custom  in  the  battalion,  as  the  officers  came 
into  such  gatherings  as  this,  to  receive  them  with  a  ripple 
of  applause,  but  to-night  there  was  silence.  Barry  ar- 
rived late.  When  he  appeared  there  fell  upon  the  men  a 
hush,  and  then  as  he  moved  toward  the  front  seats  re- 
served for  the  officers,  the  men  began  to  rise  until  the 
whole  battalion  was  standing  silent  and  motionless,  and 
so  remained  until  he  had  found  a  seat.  It  was  Major 
Bayne  who  called  his  attention  to  this  unusual  demon- 
stration, which  was  reserved  only  for  great  occasions  and 
for  nothing  less  than  a  battalion  commander. 

"They  are  saluting  you,  Pilot,"  said  Major  Bayne  in 
a  whisper,  himself  standing  with  the  other  officers. 

Barry  quickly  lifted  his  eyes,  saw  the  men  standing, 
with  all  eyes  directed  toward  him,  slowly  looked  over  the 
rows  of  faces,  smiled  a  bright  but  slightly  wavering 
smile;  turned  and  saluted  the  Commanding  Officer,  and 
sat  down  all  trembling  and  shaken  by  this  most  touching 
tribute  of  sympathy  and  affection. 

The  show  began  with  some  pictures  of  great  allied 
leaders  which  excited  a  mild  interest  and  drew  some  per- 
functory applause.  Then  came  the  tragic  comedy  of 
John  Bull's  experiences  as  an  immigrant,  when  just  as 
the  interest  began  to  deepen,  the  machine  blew  up,  and  the 
pictures  were  off  for  the  night. 

Ordinarily  such  a  contretemps  would  have  been  by  no 
means  fatal  to  the  evening's  enjoyment,  for  in  the  bat- 
talion there  was  no  lack  of  musical  and  other  talent,  and 
an  impromptu  entertainment  was  easily  possible.  Ordi- 
narily, too,  in  such  an  emergency  there  would  at  once 
have  arisen  a  demand  for  the  chaplain,  who  had  come  to 
be  recognised  as  a  great  standby  in  times  of  need  such 
as  this.  To-night,  however,  everything  seemed  changed. 
The  mild  suggestion  of  one  of  the  men  that  the  chaplain 
should  take  the  piano  was  promptly  discouraged  by  the 
dissenting  growls  of  the  others  present.  They  knew  well 
how  their  chaplain  was  feeling. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Major  Bayne  of  Barry. 


THINNING  RANKS  259 

"Get  Coleman  to  the  piano.  He  is  a  perfect  wizard," 
suggested  Barry,  indicating  a  young  lieutenant  who  had 
come  to  the  battalion  with  the  recent  draft,  and  who  had 
done  some  accompaniments  for  Barry's  violin  playing. 

Lieutenant  Coleman,  on  being  called  for,  went  to  the 
piano,  and  began  to  play.  He  was  indeed  a  wizard  as 
Barry  had  said,  with  a  genius  for  ragtime  and  popular 
music  hall  ditties,  and  possessed  also  of  the  further  gift 
of  improvisation  that  made  his  services  invaluable  on 
just  such  an  occasion  as  this. 

From  one  popular  air  to  another  he  wandered,  each 
executed  with  greater  brilliance  than  the  last,  but  he 
failed  to  excite  anything  more  than  a  mild  interest  and 
approval.  The  old  songs  which  on  other  occasions  had 
been  wont  to  let  loose  the  song  birds  of  the  battalion 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  power.  It  was  not  gloom,  but 
a  settled  and  immovable  apathy  which  apparently  nothing 
could  break. 

"This  is  going  awfully  slow,"  said  Major  Bayne  to 
Barry.  "I  wish  something  could  be  done." 

"The  boys  are  tired  out,"  answered  Barry,  himself 
weary  and  sick  of  the  performance  and  longing  more 
than  anything  else  for  solitude  and  his  cot. 

The  Commanding  Officer  came  over  and  sat  beside 
them.  He  was  obviously  worried  and  uneasy. 

"I  don't  like  this,"  he  said  to  the  major.  "Coleman 
is  doing  his  best,  and  is  doing  mighty  well,  but  there  is 
no  heart  in  the  boys,  and  it  isn't  entirely  due  to  physical 
weakness.  I  wish  we  could  start  something  that  would 
wake  them  up  before  they  leave.  They  would  sleep 
much  better." 

"The  Pilot  here  can  do  it,"  said  Major  Bayne  in  an 
undertone,  "but  I  rather  hate  to  ask  him  for  he  is  pretty 
much  all  in." 

They  sat  a  little  while  longer  listening  to  the  men's 
half  hearted  drawling  of  "The  Tulip  and  the  Rose." 

"This  won't  do,"  said  the  O.  C.  abruptly.  "Get  Dun- 
bar  over  here." 


260     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Dunbar,"  said  the  O.  C.  when  Barry  had  come  to 
him.  "This  thing  is  as  dull  as  ditchwater.  I  want  to 
get  the  boys  started  up  a  bit.  They  are  hopelessly  dull. 
Look  at  their  eyes.  Do  you  know  what  they  are  see- 
ing?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Barry,  "they  are  seeing  what  they 
have  been  looking  at  for  the  last  thirteen  days." 

"You  are  right,  Dunbar,  and  that's  what  I  want  them 
to  forget.  Now  I  know  you  don't  feel  very  fit,  and  I 
hate  to  ask  you,  but  I  believe  you  can  do  something  for 
the  men  with  that  violin  of  yours.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  have  already  sent  a  man  for  it,"  said  Major  Bayne. 
"I  knew  he'd  do  it,  and  his  violin  lies  there  under  the 
piano." 

Without  announcement  or  preface  Barry  walked 
straight  to  the  stage  where  Coleman,  having  miserably 
failed  to  strike  fire  with  "The  Tulip  and  the  Rose,"  was 
grinding  out,  with  great  diligence  and  conscientious 
energy,  "Irish  Eyes."  Barry  picked  up  his  violin  from 
the  floor,  mounted  the  stage,  laid  his  violin  on  the  piano, 
then  he  took  his  place  behind  the  pianist  and,  bending 
over  him,  reached  down,  caught  him  under  the  legs  and 
while  still  in  full  tide  of  his  performance,  lifted  him 
squarely  off  the  stool  and  deposited  him  upon  a  chair  at 
one  side  of  the  stage.  Then,  ignoring  the  amazed  look 
upon  Coleman's  face,  he  proceeded  gravely  to  tune  his 
violin  to  the  piano.  The  act  itself,  the  cool  neatness  with 
which  it  was  performed,  the  astonished  face  of  the  out- 
raged pianist,  all  together  created  a  situation  excessively 
funny.  The  effect  upon  the  audience  was  first  one  of 
surprise,  then  of  unalloyed  delight.  Immediately  every 
man  in  the  hall  was  wide  awake,  and  as  the  humour  of 
the  situation  grew  upon  them,  they  began  to  cheer  in 
quite  a  lively  manner. 

When  Barry  put  his  violin  to  his  chin  they  cheered 
again,  for  often  had  he  bewitched  them  with  the  magic 
of  his  instrument. 

Before  he  began  to  play,  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder 


THINNING  RANKS  261 

at  the  discomfited  Coleman  and  remarked  in  an  under- 
tone, perfectly  audible  throughout  the  hall,  "Now  we'll 
have  some  music." 

Again  the  audience  went  off  in  a  perfect  storm  of 
delighted  cheers,  which  were  renewed  from  time  to  time 
as  Barry  would  turn  looking  with  a  grave  face  upon 
the  still  amazed  Coleman,  not  yet  quite  recovered  from 
his  first  astonishment. 

When  quiet  was  finally  restored,  Barry  began  to  play. 
For  his  opening  number  he  made  a  daring  choice.  It 
was  the  intricate  but  altogether  tuneful  Ballade  and 
Polonaise  by  Vienxtemps.  Throughout  the  somewhat 
lengthy  number  he  held  his  audience  fixed  under  the 
mastery  of  his  art.  It  was  a  triumph  immediate  and 
complete.  When  he  had  finished  the  last  brilliant  move- 
ment of  the  Polonaise,  the  men  burst  again  into  enthu- 
siastic cheering,  moved  not  only  by  the  music  but  more 
by  the  spirit  of  their  chaplain,  which  they  could  not  fail 
to  understand  and  appreciate. 

He  had  already  achieved  what  the  O.  C.  had  desired, 
but  he  was  not  yet  done  with  them.  Having  finished 
his  classical  selection,  which  he  was  quite  well  aware 
Coleman  could  not  touch,  he  turned  to  the  latter  and 
gravely  motioned  him  to  the  piano  stool.  Coleman  hesi- 
tated, not  knowing  quite  what  would  be  demanded  of 
him. 

"Come  on,  Coleman,  be  a  sport,"  shouted  a  young  offi- 
cer, the  audience  joining  once  more  in  encouraging 
cheers. 

Still  Coleman  hesitated.  One  never  knew  just  what 
vagary  the  chaplain  might  put  on.  Failing  to  move  him 
by  imploring  gesture,  Barry  finally  approached  him,  and 
with  elaborate,  courteous  formality,  offered  him  his  hand, 
and  finally  conducted  him  to  the  piano  stool.  Again  the 
delighted  audience  went  into  a  roar  of  cheers. 

From  that  moment,  and  for  a  full  hour,  Barry  had 
them  at  his  will,  now  listening  spellbound  to  some  simple 
old  heart  song,  now  beating  hand  and  foot  to  a  reel, 


262     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

now  roaring  to  the  limit  of  their  lung  power  some  old 
and  well-loved  popular  air. 

"Ain't  he  a  bird  ?"  said  the  major  to  the  Commanding 
Officer. 

"He's  fine,"  assented  the  Commanding  Officer  with  a 
great  sigh.  "I  can't  tell  you  what  a  burden  he  has  lifted 
from  me.  It's  worth  a  week's  rest  to  the  men,  and,  poor 
chaps,  they  need  it."  Lowering  his  voice,  he  leaned 
over  to  the  major  and  said,  "We  may  be  going  up  again 
to-morrow  night." 

"To-morrow  night,  colonel!"  exclaimed  the  major, 
aghast. 

"Not  a  word,  but  I  have  exceedingly  grave  news.  The 
front  line  is  driven  in.  One  of  the  battalions  holding 
is  completely  wiped  out." 

"Wiped  out?    Good  God,  and  where  are  the  enemy?" 

"As  far  as  I  can  hear,  although  I  haven't  the  particu- 
lars, they  have  broken  through  from  Hooge  to  Hill  60, 
are  through  Sanctuary  Wood,  and  down  to  Maple  Copse. 
Two  relief  battalions  have  gone  up  and  are  holding. 
The  chances  are  we  shall  have  to  go  to  back  them  up 
to-morrow  evening.  It's  hard  on  the  boys,  for  they  have 
come  through  a  long  and  bitter  experience,  but  not  a 
word  of  this,  major,  to  any  one.  We  shall  let  them 
have  their  rest  to-night.  That's  why  I  was  so  anxious 
about  this  entertainment.  That's  why  I  am  particularly 
grateful  to  that  Pilot  of  ours.  He  is  a  wonder,  and  by 
the  look  of  him  he  is  about  all  in.  He  is  staying  mag- 
nificently with  the  game.  And  now,  major,  I  am  going 
to  do  something  that  will  please  him  immensely.  At 
least  I  think  it  will." 

At  a  pause  in  the  music,  the  O.  C.  arose  and  moved 
toward  the  stage.  Barry  at  once  stepped  back  to  the 
rear.  Standing  before  the  men,  the  O.  C.  spoke  briefly : 

"I  wish  to  thank  in  your  name,  men,  our  chaplain, 
and  his  assistant,  Mr.  Coleman,  for  the  very  delightful 
evening  they  have  given  us.  I  know  how  you  feel  by 
the  way  I  feel  myself.  I  need  say  no  more,  and  now, 


THINNING  RANKS  263 

seeing  that  we  have  missed  our  parade  service  for  the 
last  two  Sundays,  and  as  I  should  not  like  the  chaplain 
to  become  rusty  in  his  duty,  I'm  going  to  ask  him  to  bring 
our  very  pleasant  evening  to  a  close  with  a  little  service 
such  as  he  himself  would  suggest." 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  Barry 
took  up  his  violin  and  said : 

"Boys,  did  you  have  a  good  time  to-night?" 

"Yes,  sir;  you  bet  we  had,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  had,  sing  this,"  and  recited  for 
them  the  first  verses  of  the  old  hymn, 

"Abide  with  me,  fast  falls  the  even  tide." 

When  they  had  sung  the  first  verse,  he  said  again : 
"Now  sing  these  words,"  and  once  more  he  recited  the 
stirring  verse: 

"I  fear  no  foe,  with  Thee  at  hand  to  bless." 

When  they  had  finished  the  verse,  he  said  to  them : 
"Shall  we  have  another?" 

"Go  on,  sir!"  they  said.  "Sure  thing!"  "Finish  it 
up!" 

"Then,"  said  Barry,  "sing  these  words" : 

"I  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour, 

What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  power." 

Then  when  he  had  finished  the  verse,  he  dropped  the 
violin  and,  moving  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  said,  in 
a  voice  vibrant  with  emotion : 

"Don't  sing  these  words,  but  say  them  as  I  play  them 
for  you." 

He  then  recited  the  moving  words  with  which  the  old 
hymn  closes : 

"Hold  Thou  Thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes; 
Shine  through  the  gloom  and  point  me  to  the  skies; 


264     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  shadows 

flee, 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me." 

"I  want  every  one  of  you  to  say  the  words  to  himself  as 
I  play  them." 

In  long-drawn,  tremulous  notes  he  voiced  the  beautiful 
plea  for  aid  in  the  hour  of  man's  supreme  need,  which 
finds  expression  in  the  first  two  lines.  Then,  with  his 
bow  gripping  the  strings  in  a  great  sweeping  crescendo, 
he  poured  forth  in  full  strong  chords  the  triumphant 
faith  with  which  the  hymn  closes. 

He  laid  his  violin  on  the  piano,  stood  quite  a  few 
moments  looking  upon  them,  then  said: 

"Men,  listen  to  these  great  words.  They  might  have 
been  written  for  us,  and  for  these  days ;"  and  he  recited 
to  them  the  words  of  the  Hebrew  psalm,  eloquent  of 
courage  in  the  face  of  a  crumbling  world : 

"God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help 
in  trouble. 

Therefore  will  not  we  fear,  though  the  earth  be  re- 
moved, and  though  the  mountains  be  carried  into 
the  midst  of  the  sea. 

Though  the  waters  thereof  roar  and  be  troubled, 
though  the  mountains  shake  with  the  swelling 
thereof.  Selah. 

There  is  a  river,  the  streams  whereof  shall  make  glad 
the  city  of  God,  the  holy  place  of  the  tabernacles 
of  the  Most  High. 

God  is  in  the  midst  of  her;  she  shall  not  be  moved. 
God  shall  help  her  and  that  right  early. 

The  heathen  raged,  the  kingdoms  were  moved;  he  ut- 
tered his  voice,  the  earth  melted. 


THINNING  RANKS  265 

The  Lord  of  hosts  is  with  us ;  the  God  of  Jacob  is  our 
refuge.  Selah. 

Come,  behold  the  words  of  the  Lord,  what  desolations 
he  hath  made  in  the  earth. 

He  maketh  wars  to  cease  unto  the  end  of  the  earth; 
he  breaketh  the  bow,  and  cutteth  the  spear  in  sunder : 
he  burneth  the  chariot  in  the  fire. 

Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God;  I  will  be  exalted 
among  the  heathen,  I  will  be  exalted  in  the  earth. 

The  Lord  of  hosts  is  with  us ;  the  God  of  Jacob  is  our 
refuge." 

Then  they  followed  him  in  the  General  Confession, 
and  the  Lord's  prayer. 

"Captain  Dunbar,"  said  the  O.  C,  offering  him  his 
hand,  "you  have  done  for  us  to-night  a  greater  thing  than 
you  know  just  now.  You  will  understand  better  to- 
morrow. With  all  my  heart  I  thank  you  on  the  men's 
behalf  and  on  my  own  behalf,  for  I  assure  you  I  needed 
it  as  much  as  they  did.  I  want  to  assure  you,  too,  sir, 
that  I  received  to-night  the  thing  I  needed." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Barry  simply,  too  weary  to 
utter  another  word,  and  staggered  out,  half  dead  with 
exhaustion. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  he  was  leisurely  undressing,  and 
drinking  the  cup  of  cocoa  which  Monroe  had  prepared 
for  him,  a  message  summoned  him  to  the  orderly  room. 
There  he  found  Colonel  Leighton  with  Major  Bayne  and 
the  company  commanders. 

"I  have  a  communication  here  for  you,  Captain  Dun- 
bar,"  said  the  O.  C.,  "from  your  D.A.C.S.,"  and  he 
passed  him  a  little  slip. 

It  was  the  announcement  of  his  "leave." 


266     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  said  the  O.  C. 
"How  does  that  suit  you?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Barry,  uncertainty  and  hesitation  in 
his  voice,  "I'd  like  the  leave,  all  right,  but  can  I  con- 
veniently be  spared  just  now?" 

"Most  certainly,"  said  the  O.  C.,  "and,  what's  more, 
I  want  you  to  go  to-night.  Can  you  get  ready?" 

"I  suppose  so,  sir,"  said  Barry,  wearily. 

"By  Jove!  listen  to  him,"  said  the  O.  C.  "He  hates 
to  leave  us,  doesn't  he?"  And  they  all  laughed.  "Now, 
Dunbar,"  he  said,  "no  more  posing.  You  catch  the  leave 
train  to-night  at  Poperinghe.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
think  it  starts  somewhere  about  twelve." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Barry.    "I  think  I  can  catch  it." 

"Then  good  luck!"  said  the  O.  C.,  rising  from  his 
chair.  "Every  one  of  us  here  would  like  to  be  in  your 
place,  but  since  it  isn't  himself,  every  man  is  glad  that 
it  should  be  you." 

Still  Barry  hesitated. 

"I  really  hate  to  leave  you,  sir,  just  now,"  he  said.  "I 
mean  that,"  he  added  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 

"Oh,  come  on,  Dunbar,"  said  the  O.  C.  in  a  voice 
whose  gruffness  might  signify  almost  any  emotion,  but 
with  a  touch  upon  his  shoulder  that  Barry  knew  meant 
comradeship.  "Say  good-bye  to  the  boys  here,  and  get 
out." 

They  had  just  finished  the  plan  for  the  campaign  of 
the  next  night,  and  every  man  in  that  little  company  knew 
that  for  him  this  might  be  his  last  "Good-bye"  to  the 
chaplain.  It  only  added  to  the  depth  of  their  feeling 
that  they  knew  that  of  all  this  Barry  was  unconscious. 
But,  whether  it  was  that  unconsciously  he  had  gathered 
something  of  the  real  significance  of  the  situation,  or 
whether  it  was  that  he  himself  had  reached  the  limit  of 
emotional  control,  as  he  passed  from  man  to  man,  shak- 
ing hands  in  farewell,  his  lips  refused  to  utter  a  single 
word,  but  in  his  eyes  were  unshed  tears  that  spoke  for 
him. 


THINNING  RANKS  267 

Major  Bayne  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  outside: 
"Take  my  horse  and  Monroe  with  you,  and  good-bye, 
old  man.  All  sorts  of  good  luck.  Remember  that  we 
all  feel  to-night  that  you  are  really  one  of  us,  and  that 
we  are  better  men  because  we  have  known  you.  Good- 
bye." 

Again  Barry  was  conscious  of  that  strange  suggestion, 
almost  of  impending  calamity. 

"I  hate  to  go,  major,"  he  said.     "I  believe  I'll  wait." 
"Nonsense,"  said  the  major  impatiently.    "Take  your 
leave  when  you  get  your  chance,  and  have  a  good  time. 
You  have  earned  it." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    PASSING  OF    MCCUAIG 

AT  Poperinghe  the  leave  train  was  waiting  in  the 
station,  and  a  little  company  of.  officers  and  men 
were  having  their  papers  examined  preparatory  to  their 
securing  transportation.  Some  of  the  officers  were  from 
his  own  brigade  and  were  known  to  Barry. 

"A  big  push  on  at  the  front,  I  hear,"  said  one  of  them 
to  a  friend. 

"Yes,  major,"  said  his  friend.  "They  have  been 
having  a  perfect  hell  of  a  time." 

"By  the  way,  your  men  are  going  in  to-morrow,  I 
understand,"  said  the  major,  turning  to  Barry. 

"I  don't  think  so,  major,"  replied  Barry.  "We  have 
just  come  out." 

"Oh,  well,  I  had  it  from  fairly  good  authority  that 
they  were  going  in  to-morrow  night." 

Barry  hunted  up  Monroe,  whom  he  found  talking  to 
a  signaller  of  the  battalion. 

"Did  you  boys  hear  anything  about  the  battalion  going 
up  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  signaller  promptly.  "We  had  it 
over  the  wires.  They  are  going  in,  all  right,  to-morrow 
night." 

Monroe  kicked  the  signaller  on  the  ankle. 

"Did  you  hear  anything  about  it,  Monroe?"  enquired 
Barry. 

"No,  sir.  I  don't  believe  these  rumours  at  all.  They 
are  always  flying  about." 

"But  you  say  you  got  it  over  the  wires?"  said  Barry 
to  the  signaller. 

"Yes,  sir.  That  is,  sir,  of  course,  we  get  a  lot  of 

268 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  269 

messages.  Perhaps  I'm  mixed  up,"  said  the  signaller  in 
very  evident  confusion. 

"And  you  haven't  heard  anything,  Monroe?"  said 
Barry. 

"No,  sir,  not  a  thing,  and  I  think  I  would  have  heard 
if  there  had  been  any  truth  in  it." 

Something  in  the  childlike  expression  of  innocence 
upon  Monroe's  face  wakened  Barry's  suspicion. 

"Look  here,  Monroe,"  he  said,  "don't  lie  to  me.  Now, 
I'm  talking  to  you  as  your  chaplain.  Tell  me  the  truth. 
Have  you  heard  of  the  battalion  going  in  to-morrow?" 

Under  Barry's  eye  Monroe  began  to  squirm. 

"Well,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  hear  a  rumour 
of  that  kind." 

"And  you?"  said  Barry,  turning  upon  the  signaller, 
"tell  me  the  truth." 

"Well,  sir,  it's  just  as  I  said.  We  had  it  over  the 
wires.  The  battalion  is  going  in." 

"Very  well,  get  my  stuff,  Monroe,"  said  Barry,  quietly. 
"I'm  going  back." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"Do  you  hear  me?  Get  my  stuff;  I'm  not  going  out 
to-night."  Barry's  tone  admitted  no  further  talk,  and 
Monroe,  swearing  deeply  at  his  friend  the  signaller  and 
at  his  own  stupidity,  and  especially  at  his  own  "lack  of 
nerve  to  see  his  lie  through,"  hunted  out  Barry's  bag- 
gage and  stood  ready  for  his  officer  to  return. 

"Hello,  Dunbar,"  said  the  major,  as  he  saw  Barry 
about  to  mount  his  horse.  "What's  up?  Forgotten 
something?  You'll  surely  miss  your  train." 

"I'm  not  going,"  said  Barry  briefly,  getting  himself 
settled  in  his  saddle. 

"Not  going!"  exclaimed  the  major.  "What  do  you 
mean?  I  thought  you  were  on  leave." 

"Changed  my  mind,"  said  Barry  cheerfully. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  said  the  major,  "there  may  be  noth- 
ing in  what  I  told  you  about  the  push.  Anyway,  you 


270     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

know  we  cannot  postpone  our  leave  until  all  the  fighting 
is  over." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  Barry.  "There  are  lots 
of  you  combatant  chaps  in  a  battalion,  but  there  is  only 
one  chaplain." 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,"  cried  the  major,  "take  your  leave. 
Well,"  seeing  that  Barry  paid  no  heed  to  his  advice,  "the 
best  of  luck,  old  man,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand.  "I 
guess  you're  all  right  after  all." 

The  exhilaration  that  had  sustained  Barry  during  the 
evening  suddenly  fled,  leaving  him  flat  in  spirit  and  limp 
in  body.  What  he  wanted  most  of  all  was  sleep,  and 
morning  was  not  so  far  away.  He  rode  back  to  his  hut, 
and,  bidding  Monroe  let  him  sleep  all  day,  he  tumbled 
into  bed  and  knew  nothing  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Monroe,  too,  had  slept  in,  and,  after  rising,  had  been 
busy  about  the  hut,  so  that  he  had  no  further  informa- 
tion as  to  the  battalion's  movements.  The  chaplain's 
hut  was  some  distance  from  Headquarters  and  from 
the  battalion  camp.  Hence  it  came  that  while  Barry 
was  writing  hard  at  his  letters  throughout  the  remainder 
of  the  afternoon,  he  was  quite  unaware  of  what  was 
taking  place.  Monroe,  however,  returned  about  six 
o'clock  to  say  that  the  battalion  had  been  "standing  to" 
all  afternoon,  but  that  the  general  feeling  was  that  there 
would  be  no  advance  until  late  at  night. 

Glad  of  the  opportunity  to  catch  up  with  his  corre- 
spondence, Barry  paid  little  heed  to  the  passing  of  time. 
His  last  letter  was  to  the  V.A.D.,  in  which  he  poured 
out  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment  that  he  was  not 
even  now  on  his  way  to  Boulogne  and  to  her,  and  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  after  this  "show"  was  over,  he 
would  be  granted  leave,  upon  which  happy  event  he 
would  with  all  speed  proceed  to  her.  She  had  been 
speaking  of  a  trip  to  England.  Would  it  not  be  a  very 
wise  and  proper  proceeding  that  she  should  make  her 
leave  to  synchronise  with  his  ?  Now  he  must  be  off,  and 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  271 

so  with  love  to  her,  and  with  the  hope  that  they  might 
see  London  together 

Just  then  Monroe  came  with  the  startling  news  that 
the  battalion  had  "moved  up"  hours  ago. 

"Which  road?"  enquired  Barry,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Monroe,  who  had  evidently 
his  own  opinion  about  matters.  "But  I  met  a  padre," 
he  continued,  "who  told  me  that  there  was  a  stream  of 
wounded  passing  through  the  Brandhoek  Clearing  Sta- 
tion. He  said  they  were  very  short-handed  there,  sir," 
and  Monroe  regarded  his  officer  with  anxious  eyes. 

"I  hate  to  take  you  up  there,  Monroe,"  said  Barry 
with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  sir,"  said  Monroe,  hastily,  "but 
I  guess  we'll  have  to  hurry." 

"I  remember,  Monroe,  that  your  major  and  you  would 
have  sent  me  out  of  this,  but  you  know  well  enough  that 
there's  only  one  place  for  me  to-night,  and  the  question 
is,  where  is  the  battalion — Ypres  Barracks,  Chateau 
Beige,  Zillebeck,  or  where?" 

"I  enquired  at  the  transports,  sir,"  said  Monroe,  "and 
no  one  appeared  to  know.  They  moved  out  quietly  and 
left  no  word  behind." 

"All  right,  we'll  go  up  to  Chateau  Beige,  and  if  they 
are  not  there,  we'll  make  a  shot  at  Zillebeck,"  said  Barry. 
"We'll  go  right  away.  We  don't  need  a  lot  of  truck 
this  trip." 

It  was  a  long  and  tiresome  march,  but  Barry  found 
himself  remarkably  fit,  and  already  under  the  exhilara- 
tion of  what  was  before  him.  At  the  Chateau  Beige 
they  found  no  word  of  their  battalion,  but  they  were  in- 
formed that  the  shelling  on  the  Kruisstraat  road  had 
been  bad  all  afternoon,  and  was  still  going  on.  The 
Boches  were  paying  particular  attention  indeed  to  the 
crossroads. 

"All  right,"  said  Barry.  "We'll  go  up  and  have  a 
look  at  it,  anyway." 

A  hundred  yards  further  up  the  road  they  were  held 


272     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

up  by  a  sudden  burst  of  H.E.  shells,  which  fell  in  near 
proximity  to  the  crossroads  before  them. 

"Well,  we'll  just  wait  here  a  few  minutes  until  we 
can  time  these  things,"  said  Barry,  sitting  down  by  the 
roadside. 

As  they  were  waiting  there,  three  soldiers  passed  them 
at  quick  march. 

"Better  wait,  boys,"  called  Barry;  "they  are  dropping 
quite  a  few  shells  at  the  crossroads." 

"We  are  runners,  sir,"  said  one  of  them.  "I  guess 
we'll  just  take  a  chance,  thank  you,  sir." 

"All  right,  boys,  if  you  think  best,"  replied  Barry. 
"Good  luck!" 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  they  said,  and  set  off  at  a  smart 
pace. 

While  Barry  sat  listening  to  the  sound  of  their  foot- 
steps upon  the  pavement,  there  came  that  terrific  whine, 
followed  by  an  appalling  crash,  as  a  H.E.  shell  landed 
full  upon  the  road.  Barry  sprang  to  his  feet.  Three 
other  shells  followed  in  quick  succession,  then  there 
came  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  a  man  appeared, 
bleeding  horribly  and  gasping. 

"Oh,  my  God!  My  God!  They  are  gone!  They  are 
gone !" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Barry.  "Now,  where's  your  wound?" 

"My  arm,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

Barry  cut  off  the  blood-soaked  sleeve,  ripped  open  his 
first  aid  dressing,  and  bound  the  wound  up  tightly.  Then 
he  put  a  tourniquet  upon  the  arm  above  the  wound. 

"The  other  boys  killed,  you  say?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir,  blown  to  pieces.  Oh,  my  God !"  he  groaned, 
shuddering.  "My  chum's  whole  head  was  blown  off, 
and  the  other  has  his  belly  all  torn  up." 

"Now  look  here,  old  man,"  said  Barry,  "you  lie  down 
here  where  you  are,  and  keep  perfectly  still,"  for  the 
man  was  throwing  himself  about,  more  from  shock  than 
from  pain.  "We'll  get  you  to  the  dressing  station  in  a 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  273 

few  minutes.  Monroe,  run  and  get  the  stretcher  bear- 
ers, and  I'll  go  and  see  how  things  are  up  yonder." 

He  threw  his  coat  over  the  wounded  man,  and  set  off 
at  a  run  toward  the  crossroads.  He  found  matters  as 
the  man  had  said,  the  two  bodies  lying  in  a  dark  patch 
of  bloodsoaked  dust,  one  with  head  quite  blown  off,  and 
the  other  with  abdomen  horribly  torn. 

He  hurried  back  to  the  wounded  man,  who  had  re- 
covered somewhat  from  his  shock  and  was  now  lyifcg 
on  his  side  quietly  moaning.  Barry  got  from  him  the 
names  and  units  of  the  men  who  had  been  killed. 

"I  will  drop  a  note  to  your  mother,  too,  my  boy," 
he  said,  "and  tell  her  about  your  wound." 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  the  boy  quickly — he  was  only  a  boy 
after  all — "don't  tell  her — at  least,  tell  her  Pm  all  right. 
I'll  be  all  right,  won't  I?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Barry,  "don't  you  fear.  I  won't 
alarm  her,  and  I'll  tell  her  what  good  stuff  you  are,  boy." 

"All  right,  sir.    Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy  quietly. 

"And  I'll  tell  her,  too,  that  you  are  not  worrying  a 
bit,  and  that  you  know  that  you  are  in  the  keeping  of 
your  Heavenly  Father.  How  is  that?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy  in  a  low  voice.  "I  will  be 
glad  to  have  you  tell  her  that.  She  taught  me  all  that, 
sir.  Poor  mother,  she'll  worry  though,  I  know,"  he 
added  with  a  little  catch  in  his  throat. 

"Now  you  brace  up,"  said  Barry  firmly.  "You  have 
got  off  mighty  well.  You  have  got  a  nice  little  blighty 
there,  and  you  are  going  to  be  all  right.  I'll  give  your 
mother  the  best  report  about  you,  so  that  she  won't 
worry." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  the  boy,  with  fervent  gratitude, 
"that  will  be  fine.  And  you  are  right,"  he  added,  a  note 
of  resolution  coming  into  his  voice.  "I  got  off  mighty 
well,  and  it's  only  my  left  arm,  thank  goodness.  I'll 
brace  up,  sir,  never  fear,"  he  added  between  his  teeth, 
choking  back  a  groan. 

Barry  accompanied  the  stretcher-bearer  back  to  the 


274     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

chateau  and  gave  the  man  over  into  the  care  of  the 
C.  A.  M.  C. 

"Can  you  put  a  squad  on  to  digging  a  grave?"  he  in- 
quired of  the  officer  in  charge.  "If  so,  though  I'm  in 
an  awful  hurry,  I'll  stay  to  bury  those  poor  chaps." 

"Sure  thing,  we  can,"  said  the  officer.  "We'll  do  the 
very  best  we  can  to  hurry  it." 

In  about  an  hour  and  a  half  Barry  was  on  his  way 
again.  He  dodged  the  shelling  at  the  crossroads,  and 
following  a  track  across  the  open  fields,  arrived  at  the 
Zillebeck  Bund  without  adventure. 

Here  to  his  relief  he  found  the  battalion.  He  made 
his  way  at  once  to  Headquarters,  and  walked  in  upon  a 
meeting  of  officers. 

"Well,  I'm "  exclaimed  Colonel  Leighton,  check- 
ing himself  hard,  "who  have  we  here !  What  in  hell  are 
you  doing  here,  Pilot?  I  thought  you  would  be  safely 
in  old  Blighty  by  this  time,"  he  added,  shaking  him 
warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  work  that  game  on  me,  colonel," 
said  Barry  cheerily,  going  round  the  group  of  men,  who 
gave  him  an  eager  welcome.  "You  thought  you  had 
shipped  me  off,  just  as  the  fun  was  starting,  but  I  got 
on  to  you." 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned,"  said  Major  Bayne.  "How 
did  you  find  out?" 

Barry  told  him,  adding,  "You  will  have  to  train  your 
man  to  lie  more  cheerfully." 

"That's  what  comes  of  a  man's  environment,"  said 
the  major,  disgustedly.  "I  was  always  too  truthful, 
anyway." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Barry,  turning  to  the  colonel.  "I'm 
awfully  glad  to  find  you  here.  I  was  afraid  I'd  lost 
you." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  colonel,  "you  have  all 
got  your  orders.  Does  any  one  want  to  ask  a  question? 
Well,  then,  it's  pretty  simple  after  all.  Two  companies 
advance  as  far  as  Maple  Copse,  and  gradually  work 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  275 

up  until  they  feel  the  enemy,  then  put  in  a  block  and 
hold  against  attack,  at  all  costs.  The  other  two  com- 
panies are  to  follow  up  in  support  at  Zillebeck  Village. 
Later  on,  when  our  reserves  come  up,  and  when  our 
guns  return — I  hear  they  are  pushing  them  up  rapidly 
— we  are  promised  a  go  at  those  devils.  Meantime  we 
have  got  to  hold  on,  but  I  expect  the  battalion  will  be 
pulled  out  very  shortly." 

The  flickering  candles  lit  up  the  faces  of  the  men 
crowding  the  dugout.  They  were  elaborately  careless 
and  jolly,  but  their  eyes  belied  their  faces.  Under  the 
careless  air  there  was  a  tense  and  stern  look  of  expecta- 
tion. They  were  all  sportsmen,  and  had  all  experienced 
the  anxious  nervous  thrill  of  the  moments  preceding  a 
big  contest.  Once  the  ball  was  off,  their  nervousness 
would  go,  and  they  would  be  cool  and  wary,  playing  the 
game  for  all  they  had  in  them. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  colonel,  as  they  prepared 
to  leave  the  dugout,  "before  I  let  you  go,  there  is  one 
thing  I  want  to  say.  It's  a  tradition  of  the  British  army 
that  any  soldier  or  officer  who  has  lost  his  unit  marches 
toward  the  sound  of  the  guns.  I  am  proud  to-night 
that  we  have  an  example  of  that  old  tradition  here.  We 
left  our  chaplain  behind,  and  he  didn't  know  where  his 
battalion  had  gone,  but  he  moved  toward  the  sound  of 
the  guns.  That  is  what  I  would  expect  from  any  of 
you,  gentlemen,  but  it's  none  the  less  gratifying  to  find 
one's  expectations  realised." 

Only  his  flaming  face  revealed  Barry's  emotion  as  the 
colonel  was  speaking. 

"Now  then,  gentlemen,  carry  on,  and  the  best  of  luck." 

"Sir,"  said  Barry,  "what  about  a  little  prayer?" 

"Fine,"  said  the  colonel  heartily,  while  round  the  room 
there  ran  a  murmur  of  approval. 

Barry  pulled  out  his  little  Bible  and  read,  not  one  of 
the  "fighting  psalms"  but  the  tenderly  exquisite  words 
of  the  Shepherd's  song.  His  voice  was  clear,  steady 
and  ringing  with  cheery  confidence.  His  prayer  was 


276     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

in  the  spirit  of  the  psalm,  breathing  high  courage  and 
calm  trust,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  ultimate  issue. 

In  a  single  sentence  he  commended  his  comrades  to 
the  keeping  of  the  Eternal  God  of  Truth  and  Justice 
and  Mercy,  asking  that  they  might  be  found  steadfast 
in  their  hour  of  testing  and  worthy  of  their  country  and 
their  cause. 

Together  they  joined  in  the  Lord's  prayer;  then  lifting 
over  them  his  hands,  he  closed  the  little  service  with  that 
ancient  and  beautiful  formula  of  blessing,  which  for 
two  thousand  years  has  sent  men  out  from  the  Holy 
Place  of  Meeting  to  face  with  hearts  resolved  whatever 
life  might  hold  for  them. 

One  by  one,  as  they  passed  out  the  officers  shook 
hands  with  Barry,  thanking  him  for  the  service,  and 
expressing  their  delight  that  he  was  with  them  again. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  you,  Pilot  ?"  inquired 
the  colonel. 

"I  thought  I'd  stick  around  with  the  boys,"  said  Barry. 

"Well,"  said  the  colonel,  gravely,  "of  course,  there's 
no  use  of  your  going  up  to  the  attack.  You  would  only 
be  in  the  way.  You  would  be  an  embarrassment  to  the 
officers.  That  reminds  me,  there  was  a  call  from  Menin 
Mill  for  you  this  afternoon.  They  are  having  an  awful 
rush  there.  Our  own  R.  A.  P.  will  be  in  Zillebeck  Vil- 
lage, and  our  Headquarters  will  be  there." 

"I'll  go  there,  sir,  if  you  agree,"  said  Barry,  and  after 
some  discussion  the  matter  was  so  arranged. 

In  a  ruined  cellar  in  the  village  of  Zillebeck,  a  mile 
and  a  half  further  in,  the  R.  A.  P.  was  established  and 
there  carried  on  during  the  desperate  fighting  of  the  next 
three  days.  Through  this  post  a  continuous  stream  of 
wounded  passed,  the  stretcher  cases  all  night,  the  walk- 
ing cases  all  day  and  all  night.  In  spite  of  its  scenes  of 
horror  and  suffering  the  R.  A.  P.  was  a  cheery  spot. 
The  new  M.  O.  was  strange  to  his  front  line  business, 
but  he  was  of  the  right  stuff,  cool,  quick  with  his  fingers, 
and  undisturbed  by  the  crashing  of  bursting  shells.  The 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  277 

stretcher  bearers  and  even  the  wounded  maintained  an 
air  of  resolute  cheeriness,  that  helped  to  make  bear- 
able what  otherwise  would  have  been  a  nightmare  of  un- 
speakable horror.  Attached  to  the  R.  A.  P.  was  an  outer 
building  wherein  the  wounded  men  were  laid  after  treat- 
ment. Thither  in  a  pause  of  his  work,  Barry  would  run 
to  administer  drinks,  ease  the  strain  of  an  awkward  posi- 
tion, speak  a  word  of  cheer,  say  a  prayer,  or  sing  snatches 
of  a  hymn  or  psalm.  There  was  little  leisure  for  reflec- 
tion, nor  if  there  had  been  would  he  have  indulged  in 
reflection,  knowing  well  that  only  thus  could  he  main- 
tain his  self-control  and  "carry  on." 

With  each  wounded  man  there  came  news  of  the  prog- 
ress of  the  fighting.  The  boys  were  holding  splendidly, 
indeed  were  gradually  eating  into  the  enemy  front. 
They  brought  weird  stories  of  his  comrades,  incidents 
pathetic,  humorous,  heroic,  according  to  the  temperament 
of  the  narrator.  But  from  more  than  one  source  came 
tales  of  Knight's  machine  gun  section  to  which  McCuaig 
was  attached.  Knight  himself  had  been  killed  soon  after 
entering  the  line,  and  about  his  men  conflicting  tales 
were  told :  they  were  holding  a  strong  point,  they  were 
blown  up,  they  had  shifted  their  position,  they  were 
wiped  out,  they  were  still  "carrying  on."  McCuaig  was 
the  hero  of  every  tale.  He  was  having  the  time  of  his 
life.  He  had  gone  quite  mad.  He  was  for  going  "out 
and  over"  alone. 

The  first  authentic  account  came  with  young  Pickles, 
now  a  runner,  who  made  his  way  hobbling  to  Head- 
quarters with  a  message  from  A  Company,  and  who 
reported  that  he  had  fallen  in  with  McCuaig  by  the 
way,  and  by  him  had  been  commandeered  to  carry  am- 
munition, under  threat  of  instant  death. 

"Where  did  you  see  McCuaig  first,  Pickles?"  Barry 
inquired,  anxious  to  learn  the  truth  about  his  friend. 

"Way  up  Lover's  Walk,"  said  young  Pickles,  who 
was  in  high  spirits,  "under  a  pile  of  brush  and  trees.  I 
though  it  was  a  wildcat,  or  something  moving  and  snarl- 


278     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

ing — the  light  was  kind  of  dim — and  when  I  went  up 
there  was  McCuaig.  He  was  alone.  Two  or  three  men 
were  lying  near  him,  dead,  I  guess,  and  he  was  swearing, 
and  talking  to  himself  something  fierce.  I  was  scart  stiff 
when  he  called  me  to  him.  I  went  over,  and  he  says  to 
me,  'Say,  youngster/  just  like  that,  'you  know  where 
this  walk  used  to  drop  down  into  the  trench?  Well, 
there's  a  lot  of  machine  gun  ammunition  over  there,  all 
fixed  up  and  ready.  You  go  and  bring  it  up  here.'  I 
tried  to  get  out  of  it,  sayin'  I  was  bringing  a  'hurry  up' 
message  down,  but  he  turns  his  machine  gun  on  me,  and 
says,  'Young  man,  it's  only  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
down  there,  and  fairly  good  cover.  They  can't  see  you. 
Go  and  bring  that  stuff  here.  If  you  don't  I'll  blow  you 
to  hell  just  where  you  stand.'  You  bet  I  promised.  I 
got  that  ammunition  so  quick.  Oh,  of  course,  he's  crazy, 
all  right,"  said  young  Pickles,  "but  he  is  fighting  like 
hell.  I  beg  pardon,  sir." 

"Doctor,  I'm  going  after  him,"  said  Barry.  "He  will 
stay  there  until  he  bleeds  to  death.  He  is  my  oldest 
friend." 

"All  right,  padre,  if  you  say  so,"  said  the  M.  O.,  "but 
it's  a  nasty  job.  I  should  not  care  for  it." 

Barry  knew  the  area  thoroughly.  He  got  from  young 
Pickles  an  exact  description  of  the  location  of  the  spot 
where  McCuaig  had  last  been  seen,  and  with  the  return- 
ing stretcher  bearers  set  off  for  the  wood,  which  was 
about  a  thousand  yards  further  on. 

The  communication  trench  leading  up  to  the  wood, 
which  had  been  constructed  with  such  care  and  of  which 
the  Canadians  were  so  proud,  had  been  blown  up  from 
end  to  end  by  the  systematic  and  thorough  bombardment 
of  the  three  days  before.  The  little  party,  therefore, 
were  forced  to  make  their  way  overland  by  the  light  of 
the  star  shells. 

They  reached  the  wood  in  safety.  Barry  looked  about 
him  in  utter  bewilderment.  Every  familiar  feature  of 
the  landscape  was  utterly  blotted  out.  The  beautiful 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  279 

ambrosial  wood  itself,  of  heavy  trees  and  thick  under- 
brush, was  a  mat  of  tangled  trunks,  above  which  stood 
splintered  stubs.  Not  a  tree,  not  a  branch,  hardly  a 
green  leaf  was  left.  Under  that  mat  of  fallen  trunks 
were  A  and  C  Companies,  somewhere,  holding,  blocking, 
feeling  up  toward  the  Hun. 

The  shells  were  whining  overhead,  going  out  and  com- 
ing" in,  but  mostly  coming  in.  None,  however,  were 
falling  on  the  wood  because  here  friend  and  foe  were 
lying  almost  within  bayonet  length  of  each  other.  Only 
an  occasional  burst  from  a  machine  gun  broke  the  si- 
lence that  hung  over  this  place  of  desolation  and  death. 

"That's  the  company  Headquarters,"  said  the  stretcher 
bearer,  pointing  to  what  looked  like  a  bear  den,  under 
some  fallen  trees.  Barry  pushed  aside  the  blanket  and 
poking  his  head  in,  found  Duff  and  a  young  lieutenant 
working  at  a  table  by  the  light  of  a  guttering  candle. 

"For  the  love  of  God,  Pilot,"  exclaimed  Duff,  spring- 
ing up  and  gripping  Barry's  hand,  "it's  good  to  see  you, 
but  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  came  up  for  McCuaig,"  said  Barry,  after  a  warm 
greeting  to  both. 

"Oh,  say,  that's  good.  We  have  got  him  as  far  as  the 
next  dugout  here,  the  old  bear.  I've  been  trying  to  get 
him  out  for  half  a  day.  There's  a  soldier  for  you !  He's 
been  potting  Boches  with  his  blessed  machine  gun,  scout- 
ing from  one  hole  to  another  for  the  last  two  days,  and 
he's  got  a  nasty  wound.  I'm  awfully  glad  you  have, 
come." 

"How  are  things  going,  Duff?" 

"We  have  got  the  s  so  that  they  can't  move  a 

foot,  and  we'll  hold  them,  unless  they  bring  up  a  lot  of 
reserves." 

"By  Jove !    Duff,  you  boys  are  wonderful." 

"I  say,"  said  Duff,  brushing  aside  the  compliment, 
"did  young  Pickles  get  through?  That  young  devil  is 
the  limit.  You'd  have  thought  he  was  hunting  coyotes." 


280     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Yes,  he  got  through.  Got  a  blighty  though,  I  guess. 
It  was  he  that  told  me  about  McCuaig." 

"Well,  Pilot,  old  man,"  said  Duff,  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  "get  out !  Get  out !  Don't  waste  time.  There  may 
be  a  break  any  minute.  Get  out  of  here." 

Duff  was  evidently  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  "You  had 
no  right  to  come  up  here  anyway;  though,  by  Jove,  I'm 
glad  to  see  you." 

"What's  the  fuss,  Duff?"  said  Barry.  "Am  I  in  any 
more  danger  than  you?  I  say,"  he  continued,  with  tense 
enthusiasm,  "do  you  realise,  Duff,  that  as  long  as  Canada 
lasts  they  will  talk  of  what  you  are  doing  up  here  these 
days?"  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Pilot,  get  out,"  said  Duff  crossly. 
"You  make  me  nervous.  Besides,  you  have  got  to  get 
that  wounded  man  out,  you  know.  Come  along." 

He  hustled  Barry  out  and  over  to  the  neighbouring 
dugout,  where  they  found  McCuaig  with  his  beloved 
machine  gun  still  at  his  side.  The  wounded  man  was 
very  pale,  but  extremely  cheerful,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said  quietly,  reaching 
out  his  hand. 

"Good  old  man,"  said  Barry,  gripping  his  hand  hard, 
"but  you  are  a  blamed  old  fool,  you  know." 

McCuaig  made  no  reply,  but  there  was  a  happy  light 
on  his  face.  Under  Duff's  compelling  urging  they  got 
the  wounded  man  on  a  stretcher  and  started  on  their 
long  and  painful  carry. 

"Now,  boys,"  warned  Duff,  "you  are  all  right  up  here, 
except  for  machine  guns,  but  don't  take  any  chances 
further  out.  That's  where  the  danger  is.  When  the 
shells  come,  don't  rush  things.  Take  your  time.  Now, 
good-bye,  Pilot,  it's  worth  a  lot  to  have  seen  you  any- 
way." 

"Good-bye,  old  man,"  said  Barry,  smiling  at  him. 
"You're  the  stuff.  Good  luck,  old  man.  God  keep 
you." 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  281 

Duff  nodded,  and  waved  him  away.  The  return  trip 
was  made  in  comparative  quiet. 

"What  do  you  think,  doctor?"  said  Barry,  after  the 
M.  O.  had  completed  his  examination. 

"Oh,  we'll  pull  him  through  all  right,"  said  the  M.  O. 
"When  did  you  get  this,  McCuaig?"  he  continued,  touch- 
ing a  small  wound  over  the  kidney. 

"Dunno,  rightly.  Guess  I  got  it  when  we  was  blown 
up,  yesterday." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  come  in  at  once?"  inquired  the 
M.  O.  indignantly. 

McCuaig  looked  at  him  in  mild  surprise. 

"Why,  they  was  all  blown  up,  and  there  wasn't  any- 
body to  run  the  gun." 

The  M.  O.  examined  the  wound  more  closely  and 
shook  his  head  at  Barry. 

"We  won't  touch  that  now.  We'll  just  bandage  it  up. 
Are  you  feeling  pretty  comfortable?" 

"Fine,"  said  McCuaig  with  cheerful  satisfaction. 
"We  held  them  up,  I  guess.  They  thought  they  was 
going  to  walk  right  over  us.  They  was  comin'  with 
their  packs  on  their  backs.  But  the  boys  changed  their 
minds  for  them,  I  guess." 

A  reminiscent  smile  lingered  upon  the  long,  eaglelike 
face. 

Half  an  hour  later  Barry  found  a  minute  to  run  into 
the  adjoining  room  where  the  wounded  lay. 

"Anything  you  want,  McCuaig?"  he  asked. 

"A  drink,  if  you  ain't  too  busy,  but  I  hate  to  take 
your  time." 

"Oh,  you  go  to  thunder,"  said  Barry.  "Take  my 
time!  What  am  I  for?  Any  pain,  Mac?" 

"No,  not  much.     I'm  a  little  sleepy." 

Barry  turned  the  flash-light  on  his  face.  He  was 
startled  to  find  it  grey  and  drawn.  He  brought  the  M. 
O.,  who  examined  the  wounded  man's  condition. 

"No  pain,  eh,  Mac?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  McCuaig  cheerfully. 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"All  right,  boy,  just  lie  still,"  said  the  M.  O.,  beckon- 
ing Barry  after  him. 

"He  is  going  out,"  he  said  when  they  reached  the 
dressing  room,  "and  he's  going  fast.  That  wound  in 
the  back  has  been  bleeding  a  long  time." 

"Oh,  doctor,  can't  anything  be  done  ?  You  know  he's 
got  a  remarkable  constitution.  Can't  something  be 
done?" 

"There  are  times  when  a  doctor  wishes  he  had  some 
other  job,"  said  the  M.  O.,  "and  this  is  one  of  them." 

"I  say,  doctor,  will  you  get  along  without  me  for  a 
while?"  said  Barry. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  M.  O.,  nodding  to  him. 

Barry  took  a  candle  and  went  in  beside  his  friend. 
As  he  sat  there  gazing  upon  the  greying  face,  the 
wounded  man  opened  his  eyes. 

"That  you,  Barry?"  he  asked  with  a  quiet  smile. 

Barry  started.  Only  in  the  very  first  weeks  of  their 
acquaintance  had  McCuaig  called  him  by  his  first  name, 
and  never  during  the  past  months  had  he  used  anything 
but  his  rank  title.  Now  all  rank  distinctions  were  obliter- 
ated. They  were  as  man  to  man. 

"Yes,  Mac,  it's  me.  Do  you  know  what  I  was  think- 
ing about?  I  was  thinking  of  the  first  time  I  saw  you 
coming  down  that  rapid  in  your  canoe." 

"I  remember  well,  Barry.  I  often  think  of  it.  It's 
a  long  time  ago,"  said  McCuaig  in  his  soft,  slow  voice. 
"I've  never  been  sorry  but  once  that  I  come,  and  that 
time  it  was  my  own  fault,  but  I  didn't  understand  the 
game." 

"You've  made  a  great  soldier,  Mac.  We  are  all  proud 
of  you,"  said  Barry,  putting  his  hand  upon  McCuaig's. 
McCuaig's  long  thin  fingers  tightened  upon  Barry's 
hand. 

"I  think  I'm  going  out,"  he  said,  with  his  eyes  on 
Barry's  face.  "What  do  you  think?" 

It  was  the  time  for  truth  telling. 

"Oh,   Mac,  old  man,"  said  Barry,  putting  his  head 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  283 

down  close  to  him  to  hide  from  him  the  rush  of  tears 
that  came  to  his  eyes,  "I'm  afraid  you  are,  and  I  hate 
to  have  you  go." 

"Why,  Barry,  you  crying  for  me?"  asked  McCuaig  in 
a  kind  of  wonder.  "Say,  boy,  I'm  awful  glad  you  feel 
that  way.  Somehow  I  don't  feel  quite  so  lonely  now." 

"Oh,  Mac,  you  are  my  oldest,  my  best  friend  in  the  bat- 
talion, in  all  the  world,"  said  Barry. 

"Oh,  I  just  love  to  hear  you  say  that,  boy.  Do  you 
know  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  about  that  time 
on  the  boat,  you  remember/"'  Barry  nodded.  "Barry, 
tell  me,  honest  Injun,  did  I  make  good  as  a  soldier?" 

"The  best  ever,"  said  Barry.  "They  all  say  so,  offi- 
cers and  men.  I  heard  the  colonel  say  so  the  other  day." 

Again  the  smile  came. 

"Barry,  it  was  you  that  done  that  for  me.  You 
showed  me,  and  you  done  it  so  nice.  I  never  forgot 
that,  and  I  always  wanted  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  about 
it.  Barry,  you  done  a  lot  for  me." 

"Oh,  Mac,  don't  talk  like  that,"  said  Barry,  trying  to 
keep  his  voice  steady.  "I  did  so  little  and  I  wanted  to 
do  so  much." 

"Say,  I  like  to  hear  you.  I'd  like  to  stay  a  little  longer 
just  to  be  with  you,  Barry.  I've  watched  you  just  like 
you  was  my  own  boy,  and  I've  been  awful  proud  of  you, 
but  I  didn't  like  to  say  so." 

The  uncovering  of  the  great  love  of  this  simple,  hum- 
ble hearted  man  broke  down  Barry's  self-control.  He 
made  no  effort  to  check  his  falling  tears. 

"I'm  getting — kind  of  weak,  Barry,"  whispered  Mc- 
Cuaig. "I  guess  I  won't  be  long,  mebbe." 

His  words  recalled  Barry's  nerve. , 

"Mac,  would  you  like  me  to  say  a  prayer?"  he  asked. 
"Just  as  you  feel  about  it,  you  know." 

"Yes — I  would — but  I  ain't — your  religion — you 
know — though — I  like — awful  well — the  way — you  talk 
about — Him." 

"I  know  you  are  R.  C,  Mac,  but  after  all  you  know 


284     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

we  have  just  the  one  Father  in  Heaven  and  the  one 
Saviour." 

''Yes,— I  know,  Barry.    It's  all  the  same." 

Barry  had  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"Wait,  Mac,  a  minute,"  he  said. 

He  hurried  out  to  the  dressing  room,  seeking  a  cruci- 
fix, but  could  find  none  there. 

"I'll  run  across  to  Headquarters,"  he  said. 

"Say,  there's  a  machine  gun  playing  that  street  awful," 
said  the  M.  O.'s  sergeant,  "to  say  nothing  of  whizz- 
bangs." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Barry.  "I'll  make  a  dash 
for  it." 

But  at  Headquarters  he  was  no  more  successful.  He 
went  out  into  the  garden  in  the  rear  of  the  R.  A.  P., 
and  returned  with  two  small  twigs.  The  M.  O.  bound 
them  together  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  Barry  took  it  and 
hastened  to  McCuaig's  side. 

The  hurried  breathing  and  sunken  cheeks  of  the 
wounded  man  showed  that  the  end  was  not  far.  As 
Barry  knelt  beside  him,  he  opened  his  eyes.  There  was 
a  look  of  distress  upon  his  face,  which  Barry  understood. 
God  was  near.  And  God  was  terrible.  He  wanted  his 
priest. 

"Barry,"  he  whispered,  "I've  not — been  a  good  man. 
I  haven't  been — mean  to  anybody, — but  I  used — to  swear 
— and  fight,  and " 

"Mac,  listen  to  me.  We're  all  the  same,"  said  Barry, 
in  a  quiet,  clear  voice.  "Suppose  I'd  injured  you." 

"You  wouldn't— Barry." 

"But  suppose  I  did  some  real  mean  thing  to  you,  and 
then  came  and  said  I  was  sorry,  would  you  forgive  me  ?" 

"Would  I — I'd  never  think — of  anything — you  did — 
to  me,  Barry." 

"Mac,  that's  the  way  your  Father  in  Heaven  feels  to 
you.  We  have  all  done  wrong,  but  He  says,  'I  will  blot 
out  all  your  sins.'  You  needn't  fear  to  trust  Him,  Mac." 

"I  guess — that's  so,  Barry — I  guess  that's — all  right." 


THE  PASSING  OF  McCUAIG  285 

"Yes,  it's  all  right.  Now  I'll  say  a  prayer.  Look, 
Mac!" 

He  held  up  the  little  wooden  cross  before  his  eyes.  A 
smile  of  joy  and  surprise  transfigured  the  dying  face. 

"I  see  it ! — I  see — it !"  he  whispered,  and  made  a  move- 
ment with  his  lips.  Barry  laid  the  cross  upon  them,  and 
with  that  symbol  of  the  Divine  love  and  of  the  Divine 
sacrifice  pressed  to  the  dying  lips,  he  prayed  in  words 
such  as  a  child  might  use. 

For  some  time  after  the  prayer  McCuaig  lay  with  his 
eyes  shut,  then  with  a  sudden  accession  of  strength,  he 
opened  them  and  looking  up  into  Barry's  eyes,  said: 

"Barry,  I'm  all  right  now.  .  .  .  You  helped  me 
again." 

The  long  thin  hands,  once  of  such  iron  strength, 
began  to  wander  weakly  over  the  blanket,  until  touching 
Barry's  they  closed  upon  it,  and  held  it  fast. 

"I — won't — forget — you — ever "  he  whispered. 

The  nerveless  fingers  with  difficulty  lifted  Barry's  hand 
to  the  cold  lips.  "Good — bye — Bar — ry "  he  said. 

"Good-bye,  dear  old  comrade.  Good-bye,  dear  old 
friend,"  said  Barry  in  a  clear  quiet  voice,  gazing  through 
his  falling  tears  straight  into  the  dying  eyes. 

"Good — night "  The  whisper  faded  into  silence. 

A  quiet  smile  lay  on  the  white  face.  The  eyes  closed, 
there  was  a  little  tired  sigh,  and  the  brave  tender  spirit 
passed  on  to  join  that  noble  company  of  immortals  who 
abide  in  the  Presence  of  the  Eternal  God  of  Truth  and 
Love,  and  "go  no  more  out  forever,"  because  they  are 
akin  to  Him. 

In  the  sorely  tortured  graveyard,  beside  the  little  shell- 
wrecked  Zillebeck  church,  in  a  hole  made  by  an  enemy 
shell,  they  laid  McCuaig — a  fitting  resting  place  for  one 
who  had  lived  his  days  in  the  free  wild  spaces  of  the 
Canadian  west,  a  fitting  tomb  for  as  gallant  a  soldier  as 
Canada  ever  sent  forth  to  war  to  make  the  world  free. 

That  night  the  battalion  was  relieved.  Worn,  spent, 
but  with  spirit  unbroken,  they  crawled  out  from  under 


286     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

that  matted  mass  of  tangled  trunks,  sending  out  their 
wounded  before  them,  and  leaving  their  buried  dead  be- 
hind them,  to  hold  with  other  Canadian  dead  the  line 
which  from  St.  Julien,  by  Hooge,  Sanctuary  Wood,  and 
Maple  Copse,  and  Mount  Sorel,  and  Hill  60,  and  on  to 
St.  Eloi,  guards  the  way  to  Ypres  and  to  the  sea.  To 
Canada  every  foot  of  her  great  domain,  from  sea  to 
sea,  is  dear,  but  while  time  shall  last  Canada  will  hold 
dear  as  her  own  that  bloodsoaked  sacred  soil  which  her 
dead  battalions  hold  for  Honour,  Faith  and  Freedom. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LONDON    LEAVE   AND    PHYLLIS 

THE  leave  train  pulled  into  the  Boulogne  station  ex- 
actly twenty-six  hours  late.  As  Barry  stepped  off 
the  train  he  was  met  by  the  R.  T.  O.,  an  old  Imperial 
officer  with  a  brisk  and  important  military  manner. 

"You  are  the  O.  C.  train,  sir?"  he  inquired. 

"I  am,  sir,"  replied  Barry,  saluting. 

"You  have  had  a  hard  time,  I  understand,"  said  the 
R.  T.  O.,  drawing  him  off  to  one  side  and  speaking  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Yes  sir,  we  have  had  a  hard  time,"  replied  Barry, 
"at  least  the  men  have.  This  is  my  report,  sir." 

The  R.  T.  O.  took  the  document,  opened  it,  glanced 
hurriedly  through  it. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "ninety-seven  casualties,  thirteen  fatal. 
Very  bad.  Six  burned.  This  is  truly  terrible." 

"There  were  only  two  soldiers  burned,  sir,"  replied 
Barry,  "but  it  is  terrible,  especially  when  you  think  that 
the  men  were  going  on  leave  and  were  supposed  to  have 
got  quit  of  the  danger  zone." 

"Very,  very  terrible,"  said  the  officer.  "You  ran  off 
the  track,  I  understand." 

"No,  sir,  it  was  a  collision.  There  must  have  been 
gross  carelessness,  sir,"  said  Barry.  "I  trust  there  will 
be  an  investigation.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  suggest 
that,  sir,  in  my  report." 

Barry's  voice  was  stern. 

"You  need  have  no  apprehension  on  that  score,  sir," 
said  the  R.  T.  O.,  with  his  eyes  still  upon  the  report. 
"This  is  very  clear  and  concise.  I  see  you  make  no 
mention  of  your  own  services  in  connection  with  the  af- 

287 


288     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

fair,  but  others  have.  I  have  had  a  most  flattering  tele- 
gram from  the  officer  commanding  the  R.  A.  M.  C., 
as  also  from  the  Divisional  Commander,  mentioning 
your  initiative  and  resourcefulness.  I  assure  you  this 
will  not  be  forgotten.  I  understand  you  are  a  padre?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Barry,  who  was  getting  rather 
weary  of  the  conversation. 

"All  I  have  to  say,  then,  sir,  is  that  the  Canadian  army 
must  be  rich  in  combatant  officers  for,  if  you  will  pardon 
me,  it  strikes  me  that  there  is  a  damned  good  combatant 
officer  lost  in  you." 

"If  I  were  a  better  padre,"  replied  Barry,  "I  would 
be  content." 

"I  fancy  you  have  little  ground  for  complaint  on  that 
score,"  said  the  R.  T.  O.,  for  the  first  time  smiling  at 
him. 

"May  I  ask,  sir,"  replied  Barry,  "if  my  responsibility 
ends  here  ?" 

"Yes,  unless  you  want  to  take  charge  of  the  boat." 

"I'd  rather  not,  sir,  if  you  please.  How  long  before 
she  sails?" 

"About  three  hours.    Have  you  anything  to  do?" 

"I  should  like  to  visit  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  hospital.  I 
should  also  like  to  phone  the  American  hospital  at 
Etaples." 

"Very  well,  you  can  easily  do  both.  I  will  run  you 
up  in  my  car,  if  you  care  to  wait  a  few  moments  until 
I  put  through  some  little  matters  here.  Then  if  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  join  me  at  breakfast,  I  can  drive 
you  up  afterwards  to  the  hospital.  This  is  my  car.  I 
think  you  had  better  step  in  and  sit  down ;  you  look  rather 
used  up." 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  speak  to  some  of  the  men  first, 
sir?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  Do  anything  you  like.  There  are 
your  men." 

As  Barry  moved  along  the  line  of  men  drawn  up  on 
the  platform,  he  was  followed  by  a  rising  murmur  of 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS    289 

admiration,  until,  as  he  reached  a  group  of  officers  at 
the  end,  a  little  Tommy,  an  English  cockney,  lifting  high 
his  rifle,  sang  out : 

"Naow  then,  lads,  'ere's  to  our  O.  D,"  adding  after 
the  cheers,  "  'e's  a  bit  ov  ol  raa-ght,  'e  is !" 

"Men,"  said  Barry,  "I  thank  you  for  your  cheers,  but 
I  thank  you  more  for  your  splendid  behaviour  night  be- 
fore last.  It  was  beyond  praise.  You  couldn't  save  all 
your  comrades,  but  you  would  willingly  have  given 
your  lives  to  save  them.  That's  the  true  spirit  of  the 
Empire.  It's  the  spirit  of  Humanity.  It's  the  spirit  of 
God.  If  I  were  a  combatant  officer " 

"You'd  be  a  good  'un,  sir,"  cried  a  voice. 

"If  I  were  a  combatant  officer,  I  should  like  to  lead 
men  like  you  into  action." 

"We'd  follow  you  to  'ell,  sir,"  shouted  the  little  cock- 
ney. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  replied  Barry.  "I'm  not  going  that 
way.  May  I  say,  in  wishing  you  every  good  luck,  that 
you  are  a  credit  to  your  country,  and  I  can  say  nothing 
higher.  I  wish  to  thank  the  officers  who  so  splendidly 
did  their  duty  and  gave  such  valuable  service.  Good 
luck  to  you,  boys,  and  give  my  love  to  all  at  home." 

Again  the  men  broke  into  cheers,  and  Barry,  shaking 
hands  with  the  officers,  turned  away  toward  the  car.  As 
he  was  entering  the  car,  Sergeant  Matthews  came  over 
to  him. 

"I  want  to  thank  you,  sir,  for  getting  me  free  of  the 
R.  A.  M.  C.  up  there.  I  feel  rather  bad,  but  since  my 
wife  is  waiting  to  meet  me  in  London,  I  was  anxious  to 
get  through." 

"All  right,  sergeant,"  replied  Barry.  "I'll  get  you  to 
a  hospital  in  London,  when  we  arrive.  You  are  not  feel- 
ing too  badly,  I  hope." 

"A  little  shook  up,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant. 

At  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  hospital  a  bitter  disappointment 
awaited  him.  He  found  that  the  V.  A.  D.  had  departed 
for  England,  but  just  where  no  one  seemed  to  know. 


290     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

In  her  last  letter  to  him,  received  before  the  last  tour 
in  the  trenches,  she  had  mentioned  the  possibility  of 
a  visit  to  London,  and  had  promised  him  further  infor- 
mation before  her  departure,  but  no  further  word  had 
he  received. 

His  inquiry  at  Etaples  was  equally  unproductive  of 
result.  Paula  and  her  father  had  also  gone  to  England. 
They  had  taken  the  V.  A.  D.  with  them,  and  their  ad- 
dress was  unknown.  The  matron  of  the  hospital  be- 
lieved that  they  had  planned  a  motor  trip  to  Scotland, 
for  they  had  carried  Captain  Neil  Eraser  off  with  them, 
and  were  planning  a  visit  to  his  home.  They  expected 
to  return  in  about  three  weeks. 

By  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment,  Barry  realised 
how  greatly  he  had  counted  on  this  meeting  with  his 
friends.  Were  it  not  for  the  hope  of  being  able  to  dis- 
cover them  in  England,  he  would  have  turned  back  up 
the  line,  there  and  then,  and  found  among  the  only 
friends  he  had  on  this  side  of  the  ocean  relief  from  the 
intolerable  weight  of  loneliness  that  was  bearing  him 
down. 

He  walked  out  to  the  cemetery,  and  stood  beside  his 
father's  grave.  There  for  the  first  time  it  came  over 
him  that  henceforth  he  must  go  all  the  way  of  his  life 
without  the  sight  of  that  face,  without  the  touch  of  that 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  without  the  cheer  of  that  voice.  In 
floods  his  sense  of  loss  swept  his  soul.  It  took  all  his 
manhood  to  refrain  from  throwing  himself  prone  upon 
the  little  mound  and  yielding  to  the  agony  that  flooded 
his  soul,  and  that  wrought  in  his  heart  physical  pain. 
By  a  resolute  act  of  will,  he  held  himself  erect.  While 
he  blamed  and  despised  himself  for  his  weakness,  he 
was  unable  to  shake  it  off.  He  did  not  know  that  his 
mental  and  emotional  state  was  in  large  measure  a  phys- 
ical reaction  from  the  prolonged  period  of  exhausting 
strain,  his  treble  tour  in  the  trenches,  with  its  unrelieved 
sense  of  impending  destruction,  that  its  endless  proces- 
sion of  broken,  torn  bodies,  with  its  nights  of  sleepless 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS  291 

activity,  with  its  eternal  struggle  against  depression,  con- 
sequent upon  the  loss  of  his  comrades,  its  eternal  striv- 
ing after  cheeriness  and  more  than  all  the  shock  of  the 
train  wreck,  with  its  scenes  of  horror;  all  this  had  com- 
bined to  reduce  his  physical  powers  of  resistance  to  the 
point  of  utter  exhaustion. 

As  he  stood  there  in  that  cemetery  with  its  rows  of 
crosses,  silently  eloquent  of  heroism  and  of  sacrifice, 
the  spirit  of  the  place  seemed  to  breathe  into  him  new 
life.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  cross  bearing  his  father's 
name,  he  seemed  to  see  again  that  erect  and  gallant  fig- 
ure, instinct  with  life  and  courage.  There  came  to  him 
the  memory  of  a  scene  he  had  never  forgotten.  Again 
he  was  with  his  father  in  the  little  home  cottage.  How 
dear  it  had  been  to  him  then!  How  dear  to  him,  to- 
day !  Once  more  he  felt  the  strong  grip  of  his  father's 
hand  and  heard  his  father's  voice: 

"Good  night,  boy.  We  don't  know  what  is  before  us, 
defeat,  loss,  suffering,  that  part  is  not  in  our  hands  alto- 
gether, but  the  shame  of  the  quitter  never  need  and  never 
shall  be  ours." 

Unconsciously  as  if  he  were  in  the  presence  of  a  su- 
perior officer,  he  lifted  his  hand  in  salute,  and  with  a 
sense  of  renewal  of  his  vital  energies  he  returned  to 
the  boat. 

During  the  crossing  his  mind  was  chiefly  occupied 
with  the  problem  of  discovering  the  whereabouts  of  the 
V.  A.  D.  or  his  American  friends.  He  had  never  learned 
her  London  address,  if  indeed  she  had  one.  He  remem- 
bered that  she  had  told  him  that  her  home  had  been 
turned  into  a  hospital.  He  had  some  slight  hope  that 
he  might  be  able  to  trace  her  by  the  aid  of  her  uncle. 

Arrived  in  London,  his  first  duty  was  to  see  Sergeant 
Matthews,  whose  injuries  in  the  wreck  were  apparently 
more  serious  than  at  first  supposed,  safely  disposed  in 
a  hospital  ambulance.  Thereupon  he  proceeded  to  the 
Hotel  Cecil,  and  set  himself  seriously  to  the  solution  of 
his  problem.  He  was  too  weary  for  clear  thinking  and 


292     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

as  the  result  of  long,  confused  and  very  vexing  cogita- 
tion, he  resolved  upon  a  letter  to  Commander  Howard 
Vincent,  R.  N.  R.  This,  after  much  labour,  he  succeeded 
in  accomplishing.  Thereafter,  much  too  weary  for  food, 
he  proceeded  to  his  room,  where  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  unimaginable  luxury  of  a  bath  in  a  clean  tub,  and 
with  an  unstinted  supply  of  clean  towels,  after  which 
riotous  indulgence,  he  betook  himself  to  bed.  As  he 
lay  stretched  between  the  smooth  clean  sheets,  he  found 
it  impossible  to  recall  a  state  of  existence  when  clean 
sheets  had  been  a  nightly  experience.  The  chief  regret 
of  these  semi-unconscious  moments  preceding  slumber 
was  that  sleep  would  rob  him  of  this  delicious  sense  of 
physical  cleanness  and  well-being. 

He  was  wakened  by  a  knock  at  his  door,  followed  by 
a  hesitating  apology  for  intrusion.  Rejoicing  in  the 
luxury  of  his  surroundings,  and  in  the  altogether  satis- 
fying discovery  that  he  might  sleep  again,  he  turned  over 
and  once  more  was  lost  in  profound  slumber.  A  second 
time  he  was  aroused  by  a  mild  but  somewhat  anxious  in- 
quiry as  to  his  welfare. 

"I  want  nothing,  only  a  little  more  sleep,"  and  again 
luxuriating  for  a  few  moments  in  his  clean  sheets  and 
his  peaceful  environment,  he  resigned  himself  to  sleep, 
to  waken  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  pleasant  weariness, 
which  gradually  passed  into  a  somewhat  acute  sense  of 
hunger. 

He  decided,  after  due  consideration,  that  he  would 
plumb  the  depths  of  bliss,  unmeasured  and  unknown, 
and  have  breakfast  in  bed.  He  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  upon  the  murky  light  of  a  London  day.  He 
decided  that  it  was  still  early  morning,  and  rang  for  the 
waiter.  He  was  informed  by  that  functionary  that 
breakfast  was  impossible,  but  that  if  he  desired  he  could 
be  supplied  with  an  early  dinner. 

"Dinner!"  exclaimed  Barry. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  but  found  that  he  had  neg- 
lected to  wind  it,  and  that  consequently  it  had  stopped. 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS  293 

"What  time  do  you  make  it,  waiter?" 

"Half  after  six,  sir." 

He  decided  that  he  would  rise  for  dinner,  'phoned  for 
a  paper  and  his  mail,  and  lay  back  between  the  sheets 
once  more,  striving  to  recapture  that  rapturous  sense  of 
welfare  that  had  enwrapped  him  the  night  before. 
Luxuriating  in  this  delightsome  exercise,  he  glanced 
lazily  at  the  heading  of  his  paper,  and  then  cried,  as  the 
paper  boy  was  leaving  the  room, 

"Hello!  here,  boy!  what  day  is  this?" 

"Friday,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  gazing  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Friday?    Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  sir,  Friday,  sir.    What  does  the  paper  say,  sir  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.     All  right." 

He  had  gone  to  bed  on  Wednesday  night.  He  knew 
that  because  he  remembered  the  date  of  his  letter  to 
Commander  Howard  Vincent,  R.  N.  R.  He  made  the 
astounding  discovery  that  he  had  slept  just  forty- four 
hours.  Then  he  made  a  second  discovery  and  that  was 
that  of  his  precious  eight  days'  leave,  three  were  already 
gone. 

After  he  had  dined  he  inquired  at  the  desk  for  his 
mail,  and  searched  through  the  telegrams,  but  there  was 
nothing  for  him. 

Then  he  betook  himself  to  the  streets,  aware  that  the 
spectre  of  loneliness  was  hard  on  his  trail,  and  swiftly 
catching  up  with  him.  London  was  roaring  around  him 
in  the  dark,  like  a  jungle  full  of  wild  beasts,  of  whose 
shapes  he  could  catch  now  and  then  horrid  glimpses. 
Among  all  the  millions  in  the  city,  he  knew  of  no  living 
soul  to  whom  he  could  go  for  companionship,  nor  was 
there  anything  in  form  of  amusement  that  specially  in- 
vited him. 

There  was  Grand  Opera,  of  course,  but  from  its  as- 
sociations with  his  father  he  knew  that  that  would  bring 
him  only  acute  misery.  Gladly  would  he  have  gone  to 
the  hospitals,  but  they  would  be  shut  against  him  at  this 


294     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

hour.  He  bought  an  evening  paper,  and  under  a  shaded 
lamp  studied  the  amusement  columns.  Some  of  the 
Revues  he  knew  to  be  simply  tiresome,  others  disgust- 
ing. None  of  them  appealed  to  him.  Aimlessly  he  wan- 
dered along  the  streets,  heedless  of  his  direction,  con- 
scious now  and  then  of  an  additional  pang  of  wretched- 
ness as  he  caught  a  glimpse  now  and  then  at  a  theatre 
door  of  young  officers  passing  in  with  sweet  faced  girls 
on  their  arms. 

At  length  in  desperation  he  followed  one  such  pair, 
and  found  himself  listening  to  Cinderella.  Its  light 
and  delicate  fancy,  its  sweet  pathos,  its  gentle  humour 
lured  him  temporarily  from  his  misery,  but  often  there 
came  back  upon  him  the  bitter  memory  of  his  comrades 
in  their  horrid  environment  of  filth,  danger  and  wretch- 
edness. 

He  found  some  compensation  in  the  thought  that  these 
officers  beside  him  were  like  himself  on  leave,  and  while 
he  envied  them,  he  did  not  grudge  them  their  delight  in 
the  play,  and  their  obviously  greater  delight  in  their 
lovely  companions  beside  them,  but  this  again  was  neu- 
tralised by  the  bitter  recollection  of  his  own  hard  fate 
which  denied  him  a  like  joy. 

After  the  play  he  stood  in  the  entrance  hall,  observing 
the  crowd,  indulging  his  sense  of  ill-usage  at  the  hands 
of  fate  as  he  saw  the  officers  lingering  with  many  un- 
necessary touches  over  the  cloaking  of  their  fair  partners, 
and  as  he  caught  the  answering  glances  and  smiles  that 
rewarded  their  attentions. 

His  eyes  followed  the  manceuvrings  of  the  painted 
ladies  as  they  hovered  about  the  doors,  boldly  busy  with 
their  profession.  He  understood  as  never  before  the  na- 
ture of  their  lure  and  the  overpowering  subtlety  of  the 
temptation  cast  by  them  over  the  lonely  soldier  in  Lon- 
don. 

Close  at  his  side  he  heard  a  voice: 

"How  do  you  like  it,  boy?    Not  bad,  eh?" 

"Awfully  jolly,  dad.     It's  perfectly  fine  of  you." 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS  295 

He  turned  and  saw  a  grey-haired  gentleman,  with  up- 
right soldierly  figure,  and  walking  with  him,  arm  in 
arm,  a  young  officer,  evidently  his  son.  He  followed 
them  slowly  to  the  door,  and  eager  to  share  if  he  might 
the  joy  of  their  comradeship,  he  listened  to  their  talk. 
Then  as  they  disappeared  into  the  darkness,  sick  at  heart, 
he  passed  out  of  the  door,  stood  a  moment  to  get  his 
bearings,  and  sauntered  beyond  the  radius  of  the  sub- 
dued light  about  the  entrance,  into  the  darkness  fur- 
ther on. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  paces,  and  was  standing  be- 
neath a  shaded  corner  light,  meditating  the  crossing  of 
the  roaring  street,  when  he  heard  behind  him  an  eager 
voice  crying, 

"Captain  Dunbar!     Captain  Dunbar!" 

Swiftly  he  turned,  and  saw  in  the  dim  light  a  dainty 
figure,  opera  coat  flowing  away  from  gleaming  arms  and 
shoulders,  a  face  with  its  halo  of  gold  brown  hair,  with 
soft  brown  eyes  ashine  and  eager  parted  lips,  a  vision  of 
fluttering,  bewildering  loveliness  bearing  down  upon  him 
with  outstretched  hands. 

"What,"  he  gasped,  "you !    Oh,  you  darling !" 

He  reached  for  her,  gathered  her  in  his  arms,  drew 
her  toward  him,  and  before  either  he  or  she  was  aware 
of  what  he  intended  to  do,  kissed  her  parting  lips. 

"Oh,  how  dare  you!"  she  cried,  aghast,  pushing  him 
back  from  her,  her  face  in  a  red  flame.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
glad.  I  was  afraid  I  should  lose  you." 

Barry,  appalled  at  his  own  temerity,  his  eyes  taking 
in  the  sweet  beauty  of  her  lovely  face,  stood  silent,  trem- 
bling. 

"Well,  aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  you  are  glad  to  see 
me?"  she  cried,  smiling  up  at  him  saucily. 

"Phyllis,"  he  murmured,  moving  toward  her. 

"Stop,"  she  said,  putting  her  hands  out  before  her, 
as  if  to  hold  him  off.  "Remember  where  you  are.  I 
ought  to  be  very  angry,  indeed." 

She  drew  him  toward  a  dark  wall. 


296     THE  SITr  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"But  you  aren't  angry,  Phyllis.  If  you  only  knew 
how  I  have  wanted  you  in  this  awful  place.  Oh,  I  have 
wanted  you." 

She  saw  that  he  was  white  and  still  trembling. 

"Have  you,  Barry?"  she  asked,  gently.  "Oh,  you 
poor  boy.  I  know  you  have  been  through  horrible 
things.  No,  Barry,  don't.  You  awful  man,"  for  his 
hands  were  moving  toward  her  again.  "You  must  re- 
member where  you  are.  Look  at  all  these  people  star- 
ing at  us." 

"People,"  he  said,  as  if  in  a  daze.  "What  difference 
do  they  make?  Oh,  Phyllis,  you  are  so  wonderfully 
lovely.  I  can't  believe  it's  you,  but  it  is,  it  is!  I  know 
your  eyes.  Are  you  glad  to  see  me?"  he  asked  shyly, 
his  hungry  eyes  upon  her  face. 

"Oh,  Barry,"  she  whispered,  the  warm  flush  rising 
again  in  her  cheeks,  "can't  you  see?  Can't  you  see? 
But  what  am  I  thinking  about?  Come  and  see  mamma, 
and  there's  another  dear  friend  and  admirer  of  yours 
with  her." 

"Who?    Not  Paula?" 

"No,  not  Paula,"  she  said,  with  a  subtle  change  in  her 
voice.  "Come  and  see !" 

She  took  his  arm  and  brought  him  back  to  a  motor 
standing  at  the  theatre  entrance. 

"Oh,  mamma,  I  have  had  such  a  race,"  she  cried  ex- 
citedly, "and  I  have  captured  him.  Barry,  my  mother." 

Barry  took  the  offered  hand,  and  gazed  earnestly  into 
the  sad  brown  eyes  that  searched  his  in  return. 

"And  here's  your  friend,"  said  Phyllis. 

"Hello,  Pilot,"  said  a  voice  from  a  dark  corner  of  the 
car. 

"What,  Neil!  Oh,  you  boy,"  he  cried  in  an  ecstasy, 
pushing  both  hands  at  him.  "You  dear  old  boy.  How 
is  the  arm,  eh  ?  all  right  ?" 

"Oh!  doing  awfully  well,"  said  Captain  Neil.  "And 
you?" 

"Oh,  never  so  well  in  all  my  life,"  cried  Barry.    "Yet, 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS    297 

to  think  of  it,  ten  minutes  ago,  or  when  was  it,  I  was 
in  there  a  miserably  homesick  creature,  envious  of  all 
the  happy  people  about  me,  and  now " 

While  he  was  speaking,  his  eyes  were  on  Mrs.  Vin- 
cent's face,  but  his  hand  was  holding  fast  to  her  daugh- 
ter's arm.  "Now  it's  a  lovely  old  town,  and  full  of 
dear  people." 

"Where  are  you  putting  up?"  asked  Mrs.  Vincent. 

"The  Cecil."" 

"Let  us  drive  you  there  then,"  she  said. 

During  the  drive  Barry  sat  silent  for  the  most  part, 
listening  to  Phyllis  talking  excitedly  and  eagerly  beside 
him,  answering  at  random  the  questions  which  came  like 
rapid  fire  from  them  all,  but  planning  meanwhile  how  he 
should  prolong  these  moments  of  bliss. 

"How  about  supper?"  he  cried,  as  they  arrived  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  hotel.  "Come  in.  I  want  you  to;  you 
see  I  have  so  much  to  ask  and  so  much  to  tell  Captain 
Fraser  here,  and  three  of  my  days  are  gone  already.  Be- 
sides, I  want  you  to  awfully." 

Mrs.  Vincent  looked  at  his  face,  which  for  all  its 
brightness  was  worn  and  deep-lined,  and  her  compas- 
sionate motherly  heart  was  stirred. 

"Of  course  we'll  come.  We  want  to  see  you  and  to 
hear  about  your  experiences." 

"Oh,  bully!"  cried  Barry.  "I  shall  always  remember 
how  good  you  are  to  me  to-night." 

He  was  overflowing  with  excitement. 

"Oh,  this  is  great,  Neil.  It's  like  having  a  bit  of  the 
old  battalion  here  to  see  you  again." 

While  waiting  for  their  orders  to  be  filled  at  the  sup- 
per table,  Captain  Neil  turned  suddenly  to  Barry  and 
said,  "What's  all  this  about  a  train  wreck  and  the  gal- 
lant O.  C.  train?" 

"Yes,  and  this  rescuing  of  men  from  burning  cars," 
exclaimed  Phyllis. 

"And  knocking  out  insubordinates." 

"And  being  mentioned  in  despatches." 


298     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"And  receiving  cheers  at  the  station." 

"Now  where  did  you  get  all  that  stuff?"  inquired 
Barry. 

"Why,  all  London  is  ringing  with  it,"  said  Captain 
Neil. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Barry;  "who's  been  stuffing  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Phyllis,  "we  came  across  your  sergeant 
to-day  in  the  hospital.  Such  a  funny  man." 

"Who?  Fatty  Matthews?"  asked  Barry,  turning  to 
Captain  Neil. 

"Yes,  it  was  Fatty,"  said  Captain  Neil,  "and  if  you  had 
your  rights  by  his  account,  you  ought  to  be  in  command 
at  this  moment  of  an  army  corps  at  the  very  least.  But 
you  were  O.  C.  leave  train,  were  you  not?" 

"Yes,  to  my  dismay  I  was  made  O.  C.,  but  I  met  a 
chap,  Captain  Courtney,  a  very  decent  fellow,  my  adju- 
tant, and  made  him  carry  on." 

"My  word,  that  was  a  stroke!" 

"We  had  a  wreck,  a  ghastly  affair  it  was,  though  it 
might  have  been  a  lot  worse.  The  R.  A.  M.  C.  people 
did  magnificently,  and  the  men  behaved  awfully  well, 
so  that  we  managed  to  get  through." 

"And  what  about  the  O.  C.  ?"  inquired  Captain  Neil. 

"Oh,  nothing  special.  He  just  saw  that  the  others 
carried  on.  Now  tell  me  about  you  people.  What  have 
you  been  doing  and  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Well,  'we're  here,  because  we're  here,' "  chanted 
Captain  Neil. 

"And  why  didn't  you  send  me  word  as  to  your  move- 
ments?" said  Barry.  "What  hours  of  agony  you  would 
have  spared  me!" 

"But  I  did,"  replied  Phyllis.  "I  sent  you  our  town 
address  and  told  you  everything." 

"Now  isn't  that  rotten!"  exclaimed  Barry.  "Never 
mind,  I've  found  you,  and  now  what's  the  programme?" 

"Well,"  cried  Captain  Neil  with  great  enthusiasm,  "we 
are  all  off  to  Edinburgh  to-morrow,  where  we  meet  the 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS          299 

Rowlands,  and  then  for  a  motor  trip  through  the  High- 
lands and  to  my  ancestral  home." 

Barry's  face  fell.  "To-morrow?"  he  said  blankly, 
with  a  quick  look  at  Phyllis.  "And  you  are  all  going?" 

"Not  I,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  "but  why  should  you  not 
join  the  party?  You  need  just  such  a  change.  It  would 
do  you  good." 

"Sure  thing  he  will,"  cried  Captain  Neil. 

During  the  supper  they  had  firmly  resolved  to  taboo 
the  war.  They  talked  on  all  manner  of  subjects,  chiefly 
of  the  proposed  motor  trip,  but  in  spite  of  the  ban  their 
talk  would  hark  back  to  the  trenches.  For  Captain  Neil 
must  know  how  his  comrades  were  faring,  and  how  his 
company  was  carrying  on,  and  Barry  must  tell  him  of 
their  losses,  and  all  of  the  great  achievements  wrought 
by  the  men  of  their  battalion.  And  Barry  because  his 
own  heart  was  full  of  all  their  splendid  deeds  let  himself 
go.  He  told  how  Sally  and  Booth  had  met  their  last 
call,  of  the  M.  O.  and  his  splendid  work  in  rescuing  the 
wounded. 

"No  word  in  all  of  this  of  the  Pilot,  I  observe,"  inter- 
jected Captain  Neil. 

"Oh,  he  just  carried  on !" 

Then  he  told  how  at  last  the  M.  O.  went  out,  and 
how  on  his  face  there  was  only  peace.  He  had  to  tell 
of  Corporal  Thorn,  and  how  he  gave  himself  for  his  com- 
rades and  how  Cameron  kept  the  faith,  a  long  list  of 
heroes  he  had  to  enumerate,  of  whom  the  world  was  not 
worthy,  whose  deeds  are  unknown  to  fame,  but  whose 
names  are  recorded  in  the  books  of  God.  And  then  rev- 
erently he  told  of  McCuaig. 

As  Barry  talked,  his  heart  was  far  away  from  London. 
He  was  seeing  again  that  line  of  mud  bespattered  men, 
patiently  plodding  up  the  communication  trench.  He 
was  looking  upon  them  sleeping  with  worn  and  weary 
faces,  in  rain  and  mudsoaked  boots  and  puttees,  down 
in  their  flimsy,  dark  dugouts.  He  was  hearing  again  the 
heavy  "crash"  of  the  trench  mortar,  the  earth  shaking 


300     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"crumph"  of  the  high  explosive,  the  swift  rush  of  the 
whizbang.  Before  his  eyes  he  saw  a  steady  line  of  bayo- 
nets behind  a  crumbling  wall,  then  a  quick  rush  to  meet 
the  attack,  bomb  and  rifle  in  hand.  He  saw  the  illumined 
face  of  his  dying  friend. 

As  he  told  his  tale,  his  face  was  glowing,  his  eyes 
gleaming  as  with  an  inner  fire. 

"Oh,  God's  Mercy!"  he  cried,  "they  are  men!  They 
are  men !  Only  God  could  make  such  men." 

"Yes,  only  God,"  echoed  Mrs.  Vincent  after  a  long 
pause.  "They  are  God's  men,  and  to  God  they  go  at 
last.  Truly  they  are  God's  own  men." 

While  Barry  was  speaking,  Phyllis,  her  hands  tightly 
clasped,  was  leaning  forward  listening  with  glistening 
eyes  and  parted  lips.  Suddenly  she  rose,  and  went  hur- 
riedly to  the  door. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Barry,  turning  to  Mrs.  Vincent. 
"I  should  not  have  talked  about  these  things.  It's  Neil 
here  that  drew  me  out.  It's  his  fault." 

In  a  few  minutes  Captain  Neil  arose  and  saying,  "I'll 
see  where  Phyllis  has  gone,"  went  out  at  the  same  door. 

"They  are  very  great  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent. 
"We  are  very  fond  of  Captain  Fraser.  Indeed,  he  is  like 
one  of  our  family." 

"A  fine,  brave  chap  he  is,"  said  Barry  warmly,  but 
with  a  queer  chill  at  his  heart. 

"Phyllis  has  made  some  very  delightful  friends  in 
France.  Those  Americans  at  Etaples  were  very  good 
to  her,"  and  she  continued  to  chat  in  her  soft,  gentle 
voice,  to  which  Barry  gave  a  courteous  hearing  but  very 
casual  replies.  His  heart  and  his  ears  were  attentive  for 
the  returning  footsteps  of  those  who  had  so  abruptly  de- 
serted them.  While  Mrs.  Vincent  was  talking,  an  ugly 
question  was  thrusting  itself  upon  his  attention,  demand- 
ing an  answer.  He  could  see — any  one  with  eyes  could 
see — that  there  was  between  Phyllis  and  his  friend  Cap- 
tain Neil  some  understanding.  Just  what  was  between 
them  Barry  longed  to  know.  It  flashed  upon  him  that 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLIS     301 

upon  the  answer  to  that  question  his  whole  future  hung, 
for  if  this  girl  was  more  than  friend  to  Captain  Neil, 
then  the  joy  of  life  had  for  him  been  quenched.  No 
motor  trip  for  him  to-morrow.  He  had  had  enough 
heart-wrenching  to  bear  as  it  was  without  that.  No! 
If  between  these  two  a  closer  relation  than  that  of  mere 
friendship  existed,  his  way  was  clear.  He  would  return 
to  the  trenches  to-morrow. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  as 
Phyllis  and  Captain  Neil  returned  to  the  room.  "You 
found  the  air  too  close,  I  fear." 

"No,"  said  Phyllis  with  simple  sincerity,  "it  was 
Barry.  I  saw  those  men,  and  I  could  not  bear  it.  I 
can't  bear  it  now."  Her  lips  were  still  trembling,  and 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

"And  yet,"  said  Barry,  "when  you  were  over  there  in 
the  midst  of  it  all,  you  never  once  weakened.  That's 
the  wonder  of  it.  You  just  go  on,  doing  what  you  must 
do.  You  haven't  time  to  reflect,  and  it's  God's  mercy 
that  it  is  so.  Thank  God  we  have  our  duty  to  do  no 
matter  what  comes.  Without  that  life  would  be  un- 
bearable." 

"Now,  what  about  to-morrow?"  said  Captain  Neil 
briskly,  as  Mrs.  Vincent  rose  from  the  table.  "We  must 
settle  that.  What  about  it,  Barry?" 

"I  don't  know.  Do  you  think  I  should  go?  It's  your 
party  and  it's  already  made  up." 

"Not  quite,"  said  Phyllis,  looking  shyly  at  him.  "You 
belong  to  the  party  more  than  any  of  us,  you  know." 

"Then  what  about  Paula?"  said  Barry.  "This  is  her 
party,  is  it  not?" 

Phyllis  was  silent. 

"I  think,  Captain  Dunbar,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  "if  you 
would  like  it,  you  ought  to  go.  You  need  something  of 
the  kind,  and  you  will  fit  in  admirably  with  the  party,  I 
am  quite  sure.  To-day,"  she  added  with  a  little  laugh, 
"I  was  doubtful  as  to  the  propriety  of  these  young  peo- 
ple going  off  all  the  way  to  Edinburgh  by  themselves, 


302     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

but  you  know  in  these  war  times  we  do  extraordinary 
things,  but  now  if  you  join  them,  my  scruples  will  be 
removed." 

"Some  chaperon,"  whispered  Captain  Neil  audibly  to 
Phyllis.  Then  he  added  briskly,  "Well,  then,  that's  set- 
tled. To-morrow  at  8 137  we  meet  at  King's  Cross,  8 137, 
remember." 

But  for  Barry  the  matter  was  far  from  settled. 

"I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  to-night,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  be  at  King's  Cross,  however,  in  the  morning  at 
any  rate." 

"But,  Barry,"  began  Phyllis,  protesting,  "you  must — • 
I  want " 

She  ceased  speaking  abruptly,  her  face  flushing  and 
then  going  suddenly  white. 

"Oh,  rot,  old  man,"  said  Captain  Neil,  impatiently, 
"you  will  come.  Of  course  he'll  come,"  he  added  to 
Phyllis. 

They  moved  together  out  of  the  room,  Mrs.  Vincent 
and  Captain  Neil  leading  the  way. 

"Oh,  Barry,  aren't  you  going?"  said  Phyllis  in  a  low 
voice. 

"How  can  I  answer  that?"  he  replied,  almost  in  anger. 
"Do  you  ask  me  to  go?  Do  you  want  me  to  go?" 

"Of  course,  we  all  want  you  to  go,"  said  the  girl. 

"Is  that  your  answer?"  His  voice  was  tense;  his  fac£ 
strained.  "If  that  is  all,  Phyllis,  I  must  say  'Good-bye' 
to-night.  Why  should  I  go  with  you?  Why  should  I 
stay  here  in  London?  There's  nothing  for  me  here. 
The  war  is  the  only  place " 

"Oh,  Barry,"  she  said,  her  eyes  bright  with  tears, 
"how  unkindly,  how  terribly  you  talk."  Then  with  a 
swift  change  of  mood  she  turned  upon  him.  "What 
right  have  you  to  talk  like  that?"  she  cried  in  sudden 
wrath.  "What  have  I  done — what  have  we  done  to 
you?" 

"Wait,  Phyllis,"  he  cried  desperately.  "Oh,  let  them 
go  on,"  he  added  impatiently.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  is 


LONDON  LEAVE  AND  PHYLLJS          303 

there  no  place  about  here  where  I  can  talk  to  you?" 
They  were  both  pale  and  trembling.  "I  must  talk  to  you 
to-night — now — at  once."  He  stood  between  her  and 
the  door.  "Can't  you  see  I  love  you?  I  love  you,  do 
you  hear?  If  you  don't  love  me,  why  should  I  live?" 

"Oh,  Barry,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  hurried  voice.  "You 
must  not  talk  like  this.  Come  this  way.  I  know  this 
place."  She  hurried  out  by  a  side  door,  down  a  corridor, 
and  into  a  small  parlour,  with  cosy  corners,  where  they 
were  alone. 

"Now,  Phyllis,"  said  Barry,  facing  her,  with  a  settled 
fierceness  in  his  voice  and  manner.  "I  am  quite  mad,  I 
know,  to  love  you,  but  I  do.  I  can't  help  it  any  more 
than  breathing.  I  have  no  right  to  tell  you  this,  perhaps. 
I  am  nobody,  and  I  have  nothing  to  offer  any  girl.  I 
see  that  now.  Oh,  I  see  that  clearly  now,  but  I  never 
thought  of  that  part  of  it  before.  I  only  loved  you. 
How  could  I  help  it?  I  hardly  knew  myself  until  to- 
night. But  I  know  now,"  he  added  in  a  voice  of  triumph, 
the  gloom  lifting  from  his  face,  and  the  fierce  light  fad- 
ing from  his  eyes.  "Yes,  I  know  now,  Phyllis.  I  love 
you.  I  shall  always  love  you.  I  love  you  and  I  am  glad 
to  love  you.  Nothing  can  take  that  from  me." 

All  this  time  she  was  standing  before  him,  her  face 
white,  her  lips  parted,  a  look  of  wonder,  almost  of  fear, 
in  the  brown  eyes,  so  bravely  holding  his,  her  hands 
pressed  hard  upon  her  bosom,  as  if  to  stay  its  tumult. 

"I  have  no  right  to  say  this  to  you."  said  Barry  again. 
"You  belong  to  a  great  family.  Perhaps  you  are  rich. 
Great  Heavens !"  he  groaned.  "I  never  thought  of  that. 
You  are  beautiful.  Many  men  will  love  you,  great  men 
and  rich  men  will  love  you.  You  are  so  wonderful. 
Why,  there's  Captain  Neil,  he " 

"Captain  Neil,"  echoed  Phyllis,  with  infinite  scorn  in 
her  voice. 

"Well,  many  men." 

"Many  men,"  she  repeated,  her  lips  beginning  to  trem- 
ble. "Oh,  Barry,  can't  you  see?  You  blind  boy.  There's 


304     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

only  one  man  for  me,  Barry,  and  that's  you,  just  you." 

She  came  near  to  him,  laid  her  hands  upon  his  breast, 
her  eyes  looking  into  his. 

"Phyllis,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms  round  her,  a  great 
wonder  in  his  voice.  "It  can't  be  true!  Oh,  it  can't  be 
true!  Yet  your  eyes,  your  dear  eyes  say  so.  Phyllis, 
I  do  believe  you  love  me." 

The  little  hands  slid  up  around  his  neck ;  he  drew  her 
close. 

"Phyllis,  my  dear,  dear,  love,"  he  whispered. 

He  felt  her  body  suddenly  relax,  and  as  she  leaned 
backwards  in  his  arms,  still  clinging  to  him,  he  bent  over 
her  and  his  lips  met  hers  in  a  long  kiss. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    WEDDING   JOURNEY 

JUST  a  moment,  if  you  please,  Paula.      I  should  like 
to  get  down  a  few  notes  of  this  bit.     Oh,  what  a 
view !    Lake,  moor,  hills,  mountains,  village !" 

Mr.  Rowland  sprang  from  the  car,  sketchbook  in 
hand,  and  ran  forward  to  a  jutting  rock  that  commanded 
the  wide  valley,  flanked  by  hills,  in  whose  bosom  lay  a 
loch,  shimmering  in  the  morning  light.  The  car  drew 
up  on  the  brow  of  a  long  and  gently  sloping  incline, 
which  the  road  followed  until  it  disappeared  in  a  turn 
at  the  village  at  the  loch's  end. 

"Get  the  little  church  tower  in,  father,  and  a  bit  of  the 
castle.  I  can  see  it  from  here,"  said  Paula,  standing 
upon  the  motor  seat. 

"I  shall  try  this  further  rock,"  said  her  father.  "Ah, 
here  it  is.  Do  come,  all  of  you,  and  get  this.  Oh,  what 
a  perf ectly  glorious  view !" 

The  little  group  gathered  about  him  in  silence,  upon 
a  little  headland  that  overlooked  the  valley,  and  feasted 
upon  the  beauty  that  spread  itself  out  before  them,  the 
undulating  slope  and  shimmering  loch,  the  wide  moors 
and  softly  rounded  hills,  the  dark  green  masses  of 
ragged  firs,  and  the  great  white  Bens  in  the  far  distance, 
and  below  them,  in  the  midst  the  human  touch,  in  a 
nestling  village  with  its  Heaven-pointing  spire. 

"Hark!"  said  Paula. 

From  across  the  loch  there  floated  up  to  them,  soft 
and  mellow  as  an  angel's  song,  the  sound  of  a  bell. 

Mr.  Howland  dropped  his  sketchbook,  took  off  his 
hat,  and  stood  as  if  in  worship.  The  other  men  followed 
his  example. 

305 


306     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Father,"  said  Paula,  "let's  go  to  church." 

"Hush,"  said  her  father,  putting  up  his  hand,  and  so 
stood  for  some  moments. 

"Oh,  Scotland,  Scotland!"  he  cried,  lifting  his  arms 
high  above  his  head,  "no  wonder  your  children  in  exile 
weep  for  their  native  land." 

"And  your  men  fight  and  die  for  you,"  added  Paula, 
glancing  at  Captain  Neil. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Captain  Neil,  aiming  quickly  away. 

"Yes,"  said  Paula,  "we  shall  go  to  church  here, 
father." 

The  church  stood  against  a  cluster  of  ancient  firs,  in 
the  midst  of  its  quiet  graves,  yew  shaded  here  and  there. 
Beside  it  stood  the  manse,  within  its  sweet  old  garden, 
protected  by  a  moss  covered  stone  wall. 

At  its  gate  the  minister  stood,  a  dark  man  with  sil- 
vering hair,  of  some  sixty  years,  but  still  erect  and  with 
a  noble,  intellectual  face. 

"Let  us  speak  to  him,"  said  Paula,  as  they  left  their 
car. 

With  characteristic  reserve,  Barry  and  Neil  shrank 
from  greeting  a  stranger,  but  with  fine  and  easy  cour- 
tesy Mr.  Howland  bared  his  head,  and  went  up  to  the 
minister. 

"We  heard  your  bell's  invitation,  sir,"  he  said,  "and 
we  came  to  worship  with  you." 

A  grave  smile  touched  the  dark  face. 

"You  rightly  interpreted  its  message,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  repeat  its  welcome." 

"We  are  Americans,  at  least  my  daughter  and  I  are," 
said  Mr.  Howland,  presenting  Paula,  a  frank  smile 
upon  her  beautiful  face,  "and  this  is  her  young  friend 
from  London,  Miss  Vincent,  and  these  young  officers 
are  of  the  Canadian  army." 

"Canadians!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  meeting  them 
with  both  hands.  "Oh,  you  are  indeed  welcome." 

"We  are  all  in  the  war,  sir,  I  would  have  you  know," 
added  Mr.  Howland. 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  307 

The  minister  looked  puzzled. 

"Let  me  explain,"  said  Barry.  "Mr.  Rowland  and 
his  daughter  are  on  leave  from  their  own  hospital  which 
they  have  set  up  in  France.  Miss  Vincent  is  from  the 
base  hospital  in  Boulogne." 

Like  the  sun  breaking  upon  the  loch  in  a  dull  day,  a 
smile  broke  over  the  dark  face.  He  threw  the  gate 
wide  open. 

"In  the  name  of  my  country,  in  this  its  dark  hour, 
let  me  give  you  welcome,"  and  once  more  he  shook  them 
each  by  the  hand.  "We  have  still  half  an  hour  before 
worship,"  he  continued.  "Pray  do  me  the  honour  of 
entering  my  manse." 

They  followed  him  up  the  shrubbery-flanked  gravel 
walk  to  the  door. 

"Enter,"  he  said,  going  before  them  into  the  manse. 
"Jean!  Jean!"  he  called. 

"Yes,  dear,"  came  a  voice  like  the  sound  of  a  silver 
bell,  and  from  another  room  issued  a  lady  with  a  face 
of  rare  and  delicate  loveliness.  Her  soft,  clinging  black 
gown,  with  a  touch  of  white  at  her  throat,  served  to 
emphasise  the  sweet  purity  of  her  face,  but  cast  over  it 
a  shade  of  sadness  at  once  poignant  and  tender. 

"My  dear,  this  is  Mrs.  Robertson,"  he  said  simply; 
"these  friends,  Americans  and  Canadians,  are  from  the 
war." 

At  that  word  she  came  to  greet  them,  her  face  illu- 
mined by  a  smile  inexpressibly  sweet,  but  inexpressibly 
sad.  "You  are  welcome,  oh,  very  welcome,"  she  said, 
in  a  soft  Scotch  voice.  "Come  in  and  rest  for  a  few 
moments." 

"Our  young  friend  here,  Captain  Dunbar,  is  chaplain 
of  a  distinguished  Canadian  regiment." 

"They  are  all  distinguished,"  said  the  lady. 

"A  chaplain?"  said  the  minister.  "My  dear  sir,  we 
should  be  grateful  for  a  message  for  our  people  from 
the  front " 

"Oh,  yes,  if  you  would."  added  his  wife. 


308     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"But,"  protested  Barry,  "I  want  to  hear  some  one  else 
preach.  One  gets  very  tired  of  one's  own  preaching, 
and  besides  I'm  a  very  poor  preacher." 

"I'll  take  that  risk,  but  I  will  not  press  you,"  said  the 
minister  courteously. 

"Do,  Barry,"  said  Paula  in  a  low  voice,  but  he  shook 
his  head. 

"I  see  you  have  sc:ne  soldier  friends  at  the  front," 
said  Mr.  Howland,  pointing  to  a  photograph  on  the  man- 
tel of  a  young  officer  in  Highland  dress. 

"Our  son,  sir,"  said  the  minister  quietly. 

"Our  only  son,"  added  his  wife  quietly.  "He  was  in 
the  Black  Watch."  Her  voice,  with  its  peculiar  bell-like 
quality,  was  full  of  pride  and  tenderness. 

"Oh,"  said  Phyllis,  turning  to  her  with  quick  tears  in 
her  eyes  and  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Ah,"  said  the  lady,  "you  too?     Your  brother?" 

"My  two  brothers." 

"My  dear  child!  My  dear  child!"  said  the  minister's 
wife,  kissing  her.  "Your  mother  was  greatly  privi- 
leged," she  added  gently. 

It  was  a  deeply  moving  scene. 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Howland,  wiping  his  eyes,  "for- 
give me,  but  you  mothers  are  the  wonder  of  the  war." 

"There  are  many  of  us  in  this  glen,  sir,"  she  replied. 
"We  cannot  give  our  lives,  sir.  We  can  only  give  what 
is  dearer  than  our  lives,  our  dear,  dear  sons,  and,  be- 
lieve me,  we  don't  grudge  them." 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Howland,  "the  whole  world 
honours  you  and  wonders  at  you." 

"Sir,"  said  Barry,  obeying  a  quick  impulse  "I  cannot 
preach,  but  may  I  tell  your  people  something  about  their 
boys  and  how  splendid  they  are?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  minister. 

"Oh,  would  you?"  cried  his  wife.  "There  are  many 
t;here  who  feel  only  the  loss  and  the  sorrow.  You  can  tell 
them  something  of  its  splendour." 

By  this  time  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  visitors  there  were 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  309 

tears,  but  on  the  faces  of  the  minister  and  hi<  wife  there 
was  only  the  serene  peace  of  those  who  within  the  sa- 
cred shrine  of  sacrifice  have  got  a  vision  of  its  eternal 
glory. 

"Barry,"  said  Paula,  drawing  him  aside,  "I  love  you 
for  this,  but  do  talk  about  something,  or  I  shall  surely 
cry.  These  people  break  my  heart." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Barry,  looking  at  them,  "there  are  no 
tears  there.  They  have  been  all  the  way  through." 

"Like  people,  like  priest !"  The  folk  that  gathered  in 
the  little  church  that  morning  were  simple  people  of 
the  glen,  shepherds  and  cotters  from  the  countryside, 
humble  villagers.  They  were  women  for  the  most  part, 
with  old  men  and  children.  The  girls  were  away  at  the 
munition  plants,  the  young  men  at  the  war,  fighting 
or  lying  under  their  little  crosses  or  in  their  unknown 
and  unmarked  graves,  on  one  of  Britain's  five  battle 
fronts,  or  under  the  tossing  waters  of  the  Seven  Seas 
where  Britain's  navy  rides,  guarding  the  world's  free- 
dom. Simple  peasant  folk  they  were,  but  with  that  look 
of  grave  and  thoughtful  steadfastness  with  which  Scot- 
land knows  how  to  stamp  her  people. 

The  devotions  were  conducted  by  the  minister  with 
simple  sincerity,  and  with  a  prophet's  mystic  touch  and 
a  prophet's  vision  of  things  invisible. 

Barry  made  no  attempt  at  a  sermon.  He  yielded 
himself  to  the  spirit  of  the  place,  the  spirit  of  the  manse 
and  its  people,  whose  serene  fortitude  under  the  bur- 
den of  their  sorrow  had  stirred  him  to  his  soul's  depths. 
Thdr  spirit  recalled  the  spirit  of  his  own  father  and 
the  spirit  of  the  men  he  had  known  in  the  trenches.  He 
made  a  slight  reference  to  the  horrors  of  the  war.  He 
touched  lightly  upon  the  soldiers'  trials  but  he  told  them 
tales  of  their  endurance,  their  patience,  their  tenderness 
to  the  wounded,  their  comradeship,  their  readiness  to 
sacrifice.  Before  he  closed,  he  lifted  them  up  to  see 
the  worth  and  splendour  of  it  all  and  gave  them  a  vision 


310     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

of  the  world's  regeneration  through  the  eternal  mystery 
of  the  cross. 

They  listened  with  uplifted  face,  on  which  rested  a 
quiet  wonder,  touched  with  that  light  that  only  falls 
where  sacrifice  and  sacrament  are  joined.  There  were 
tears  on  many  faces,  but  they  fell  quietly,  without  bit- 
terness, without  passion,  without  despair. 

A  woman  with  a  grief  worn  face  waited  for  him  at 
the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs,  the  minister's  wife  and 
Phyllis  beside  her. 

"Mrs.  Finlayson  wishes  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said. 

"Ay,  ay!  I  jist  want  to  say  that  you  had  the  word 
for  me  the  day.  I  see  it  better  the  noo.  A'm  mair 
content  that  ma  mon  sud  be  sleepin'  oot  yonder."  She 
held  Barry's  hand  while  she  spoke,  her  tears  falling  on 
it,  then  kissed  it  and  turned  away. 

"And  this,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  "is  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray, who  has  given  three  sons,  and  who  has  just  sent 
her  last  son  away  this  week." 

"Three  sons,"  echoed  Barry,  gazing  at  the  strong  face, 
beaten  and  brown  with  the  winds  and  suns  of  fifty  years, 
"and  you  sent  away  your  last.  Oh,  I  wonder  at  you. 
How  could  you?" 

"A  cudna  haud  him  back  \vi'  his  three  brithers  lyin' 
oot  there,  and,"  she  added,  with  a  proud  lift  of  her  head, 
"and  wudna." 

It  took  some  minutes  for  Barry  to  make  his  way 
through  to  the  door.  He  wanted  to  greet  them  all. 
He  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  there  not  in  his  own  per- 
son but  as  a  representative  standing  between  two  noble 
companies  of  martyrs,  those  who  had  gone  forth  to  die, 
and  those  who  had  sent  them. 

"You  have  done  us  a  great  service  to-day,  sir,"  said  the 
minister  in  bidding  Barry  good-bye. 

"It  was  a  privilege  to  do  it,"  said  Barry  as  he  shook 
hands  with  the  minister  and  his  wife.  "I  shall  tell  the 
men  about  you  and  your  people." 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  311 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  is  he  your  man?"  asked  the  min- 
ister's wife  as  she  held  Phyllis'  hand. 

"He  is,"  said  Phyllis,  glancing  at  Barry  with  shy 
pride. 

"And  he  leaves  you  soon  ?" 

"In  two  days,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  quick  breath. 

"Don't  let  him  away  till  you  give  yourself  wholly  to- 
him.  Why  not  to-morrow?  It's  a  mother's  word." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  cried  Paula  impulsively,  seeking 
to  cover  the  girl's  blushing  confusion.  "Neil,"  she  added, 
turning  to  him,  "I  should  love  to  be  married  in  just 
such  a  dear  little  church  as  this." 

"All  right,"  said  Neil.  "I  know  another  just  like  it, 
and  I  shall  show  it  to  you  next  week." 

They  wandered  down  by  the  loch's  side.  Passing  a 
boat-renting  establishment,  Paula  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"My  Land  of  Liberty,  look  there,  Barry !" 

"What?" 

"A  canoe,"  she  cried,  running  toward  it.  "A  Canadian 
canoe !" 

"A  genuine  Peterboro,"  he  cried,  following  her. 
"Where  did  you  get  this?"  he  inquired,  turning  to  the 
boatman. 

"My  boy  brought  it  with  him  from  Canada,  sir.  He 
is  an  engineer.  I  have  his  whole  outfit  in  the  house — 
tent,  camp  things  and  all.  He  is  at  the  war  himself." 

"Oh,  Barry,  look  at  the  dear  thing.  What  does  it 
make  you  think  of?"  She  glanced  at  Barry's  face  and 
added  quickly,  "Oh,  I  know.  Forgive  me.  I'm  a  fool!" 

"Come  along,  Phyllis,"  said  Barry,  drawing  her  away 
with  him.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"We  shall  take  lunch  in  half  an  hour,  Barry,"  called 
Mr.  Howland  after  him.  "We're  due  at  Pitlochry,  you 
know,  for  dinner." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Barry.     "We'll  be  on  hand." 

"I  wonder  if  she's  got  the  nerve,"  said  Paula  to  Cap- 
tain Neil  as  they  stood  looking  after  them. 


THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"I  wonder,"  said  Captain  Neil,  looking  at  her.  "Would 
you?" 

"Would  I,"  said  Paula,  with  sudden  shyness.  "I — 
but  you  are  not  going  away  in  two  days." 

"No,  thank  the  good  Lord,"  said  Captain  Neil,  fer- 
vently, "but,  Paula,  I'll  not  forget." 

At  Pitlochry  they  found  their  mail  awaiting  them. 

"A  telegram  for  you,  Barry,"  said  Paula,  who  had 
assumed  the  duty  of  postman. 

They  all  paused  in  examining  their  mail  to  watch 
Barry  open  his  wire. 

"Guess,"  he  shouted,  holding  his  telegram  high. 

"Oh,  glory,  I  know!"  exclaimed  Paula.  "Extended 
leave.  How  much?" 

"  'Oh,  excellent  young  maid,  how  much  elder  art  thou 
than  thy  looks!'" 

"Oh,  Barry!"  exclaimed  Phyllis.    "How  much?" 

"Five  days,  five  whole  days." 

"Humph!  It's  the  least  they  could  do.  They  might 
have  made  it  ten,"  grumbled  Paula. 

"Mr.  Howland,  may  I  speak  to  you  a  moment?" 
Barry's  look  and  voice  were  eloquent  of  resolve. 

"Certainly,  Barry.     Immediately?" 

"If  you  please,  sir." 

They  retired  to  a  corner,  where  Barry  could  be  seen 
with  ardent  look  and  vehement  gesture  putting  his 
proposition  to  Mr.  Howland,  whose  face  showed  min- 
gled pleasure  and  perplexity.  The  others  waited  pa- 
tiently for  the  conference  to  end. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Paula,  "Barry  ought  to  know  by 
this  time  that  the  pater  simply  can't  make  up  his  mind 
without  me.  I  know  what  they  are  at." 

She  moved  over  to  them. 

"Now,  father,  of  course  you  will  do  as  Barry  wishes," 
she  declared.  "Oh,  I  know  what  he  wants.  Now  listen 
to  me.  Just  wire  Mrs.  Vincent  that  everything  is  per- 
fectly all  right,  that  you  can  guarantee  Barry,  and  that 
it's  the  sensible  thing,  the  only  thing  to  do  under  the  cir- 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  313 

cumstances.  Oh,  we'll  have  it  in  that  dear  little  church. 
Splendid.  Perfectly  ripping!  Eh,  Phyllis?  Come  over 
here  at  once.  Now,  father,  get  busy  on  the  wire.  Why 
waste  a  perfectly  good  hour  in  just  talking  about  it? 
What  do  you  say,  folks  ?  How  many  say  'Ay'  ?" 

Up  went  Barry's  two  hands,  and  with  them  Neil's 
and  Paula's. 

"What  about  you,  miss?"  asked  Paula,  turning  wrath- 
fully  toward  Phyllis. 

Phyllis  walked  quietly  to  Barry's  side. 

"Barry,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand,  "I  have  de- 
cided to  be  married  to-morrow.  I  shall  wire  mamma." 

Barry  answered  her  only  with  his  eyes. 

"By  Jove!"  said  Paula,  "you  Britishers  are  the  limit, 
for  stolid,  unemotional  people.  Here  am  I  shouting 
my  head  off  like  a  baseball  fan,  to  get  this  thing  put 
through,  and  you  quietly  walk  up  and  announce  that 
everything's  fixed  but  the  band." 

The  wires  to  London  that  afternoon  were  kept  busy, 
a  message  going  to  Mrs.  Vincent  from  each  member 
of  the  party,  but  it  was  felt  that  that  from  Phyllis  to 
her  mother  was  really  all  that  was  necessary. 

"Dearest  Mamma — Barry  and  I  are  to  be  married  to- 
morrow. English  law  makes  London  impossible,  as 
Barry  has  only  five  days.  I  am  very  happy,  feeling  sure 
you  approve.  Our  dearest,  dearest  love. 

"PHYLLIS." 

A  long  wire  also  went  from  Barry  to  Mr.  Robertson, 
the  minister  of  the  little  church,  where  they  had  spent 
such  a  delightful  hour  that  morning,  but  this  wire  Barry 
showed  to  no  one. 

The  bride's  bouquet  was  from  the  manse  garden,  a 
shower  of  white  roses,  no  purer  and  no  sweeter  than 
the  bride  herself.  At  the  church  door,  the  party  stood 
shrinking  from  the  moment  of  parting.  At  length 
Paula  took  matters  in  hand. 


314     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"As  usual,"  she  said,  "the  heavy  work  falls  to  me. 
Dear  Mrs.  Robertson" — to  the  minister's  wife — "good- 
bye. I  shall  always  love  you  and  your  dear  little 
church." 

She  put  her  arms  around  the  minister's  wife  and 
kissed  her. 

"Oh,  we're  going  to  see  them  off,"  said  that  lady. 
"Lead  the  way,  Captain  Dunbar,  please,"  she  added,  with 
a  bright  smile,  giving  him  a  little  push. 

"Come,  Phyllis,"  said  Barry  offering  his  wife  his  arm, 
and  they  started  off  down  the  street  toward  the  lake. 

"Will  you  permit  me?"  said  the  minister,  offering 
his  arm  to  Paula,  who  in  mystified  silence  took  it  with- 
out a  word. 

"May  I  have  the  pleasure?"  said  Mr.  Rowland,  of- 
fering his  arm  to  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Come,  Captain  Eraser,"  she  said  gaily,  offering  him 
the  other  arm. 

"Just  what  is  happening  to  me,  I  don't  pretend  to 
know,"  said  Paula,  "but  whatever  it  is,  America  is  in 
this  thing  to  the  finish." 

Barry  stopped  at  the  boathouse  landing.  There,  tied 
to  the  dock,  floated  the  Canadian  canoe,  laden  with  tent 
and  camp  outfit,  and  with  extra  baskets  provided  from 
the  manse. 

"Oh,  Barry,  how  wonderful!  How  perfectly  won- 
derful!" cried  Paula  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

In  that  farewell  there  were  tears  and  smiles,  but 
more  smiles  than  tears.  The  last  to  touch  their  hands 
was  Paula.  She  managed  to  draw  them  apart  from 
the  others,  with  her  eyes  glistening  with  unaccustomed 
tears.  "You  deserve  each  other.  Phyllis,"  she  whis- 
pered, alternately  shaking  and  kissing  her,  "there  was 
a  day  when  I  would  have  fought  you  for  him,  until 
Neil  came.  Barry,  you  dear  boy,  you  may  kiss  me  good- 
bye, and  oh,  may  you  both  live  forever." 

"Goodbye,   dear   Paula,"   cried   Phyllis.      "You   have 


A  WEDDING  JOURNEY  315 

been  so  lovely  to  me  from  the  very  first.  I  shall  never, 
never  forget  you." 

"Goodbye,  Paula,"  said  Barry,  "dearest  of  all  dear 
friends." 

She  stooped  to  steady  the  canoe,  while  Phyllis  stepped 
to  her  place  in  the  bow. 

"Goodbye  to  all  of  you.  God  love  you  and  keep  you 
all,"  said  Barry. 

He  took  his  paddle  and  stepped  into  the  canoe,  Paula 
still  stooping  over  it  to  keep  it  steady. 

"Dear,  dear  Barry,"  she  whispered,  and  for  the  first 
time  her  tears  fell.  "Goodbye!  Goodbye!" 

Together  the  little  company  stood  watching  them 
away,  Phyllis  in  the  bow,  not  paddling,  sat  with  her 
face  toward  them,  Barry  swinging  his  paddle  with  grace- 
ful, powerful  strokes,  until  just  at  a  curve  of  the  shore, 
where  some  birches  overhung  the  water,  he  swung  the 
canoe  half  round,  and  with  paddle  held  Voyageur  fash- 
ion in  salute,  they  passed  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  PILOT'S   LAST   PORT 

THE  little  Canadian  army  was  done  with  The 
Salient.  The  British  tradition  established  in  the 
third  month  of  the  war,  in  that  first  terrific  twenty-two 
days'  fight  by  Ypres,  that  that  deadly  convex  should  be 
no  thoroughfare  to  Calais  for  the  Hun,  was  passed  on 
with  The  Salient  into  Canadian  hands  in  the  early 
months  of  1915.  How  the  little  Canadian  army  pre- 
served the  tradition  and  barred  "the  road-hog  of  Eu- 
rope" from  the  channel  coast  for  seventeen  months,  let 
history  tell,  and  at  what  cost  let  the  dead  declare  who  lie 
in  unmarked  graves  which,  following  the  curving  line 
of  trenches  from  Langemarck  through  Hooge  and  Sanc- 
tuary Wood  over  Observation  Ridge  to  St.  Eloi,  and 
the  dead  under  those  little  crosses  that  crowd  the  ceme- 
teries of  The  Salient  and  of  the  clearing  stations  in 
the  rear,  and  the  living  as  well,  who  through  life  will 
carry  the  burden  of  enfeebled  and  mutilated  bodies. 

For  seventeen  months  the  Canadians  in  shallow  dug- 
outs and  behind  flimsy  trenches  endured  the  maddening 
pounding  of  the  Huns'  guns,  big  and  little,  without  the 
satisfaction  of  reprisal,  except  in  raid  or  counter-attack, 
suffering  the  loss  of  two-thirds  of  their  entire  force, 
but  still  holding.  Now  at  length  came  the  welcome  re- 
lease. They  were  ordered  to  the  Somme.  Welcome  not 
simply  because  of  escape  from  an  experience  the  most 
trying  to  which  an  army  could  be  subjected,  but  wel- 
come chiefly  because  there  was  a  chance  of  fighting 
back. 

They  had  no 'illusions  about  that  great  battle  area 
of  the  south,  echoes  of  whose  titanic  struggle  had 

316 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  317 

reached  them,  but  they  longed  for  a  chance  to  get  back 
at  their  foe.  Besides,  the  Somme  challenged  their  fight- 
ing spirit.  That  glorious  assault  of  the  first  of  July  of 
the  allied  armies  which  flung  them  upon  the  scientifically 
prepared,  embattled  and  entrenched  "German  Frontier," 
with  its  fortified  villages,  its  gun  stuffed  woods,  its 
massed  parks  of  artillery,  and  defended  by  highly  dis- 
ciplined and  superbly  organised  soldiery,  stirred  them 
like  a  bugle  call.  For  two  years  the  master  war-makers 
of  the  world  had  employed  scientific  knowledge,  in- 
genuity and  unlimited  resources  upon  the  construction 
of  a  system  of  defence  by  means  of  which  they  hoped 
to  defy  the  world,  and  upon  which  when  completed  they 
displayed  the  vaunting  challenge,  "We  are  ready  for 
you;  come  on!" 

In  that  great  conflict  there  was  no  element  of  sur- 
prise. It  was  a  deliberate  testing  out  of  strength,  physi- 
cal and  moral.  For  the  first  time  in  the  war  the  British 
army  stood  upon  something  like  even  terms  in  man- 
power and  in  weight  of  metal,  with,  however,  the  im- 
mense handicap  still  resting  upon  it  that  it  was  the  at- 
tacking force.  The  result  settled  forever  the  question 
of  the  fighting  quality  of  the  races.  When  the  first 
day's  fight  was  done,  on  a  battle  front  of  twenty  miles 
the  British  armies  had  smashed  a  hole  seven  miles  wide, 
while  their  gallant  allies,  fighting  on  an  eight-mile  front, 
had  captured  the  whole  line.  In  two  weeks'  time,  the 
seven-mile  hole  was  widened  to  ten.  Fortified  villages, 
entrenched  redoubts,  woods  stuffed  with  guns,  great  and 
small,  had  gone  down  before  that  steady,  relentless, 
crushing  advance.  The  full  significance  of  the  Somme 
had  not  dawned  as  yet  upon  the  world.  The  magnitude 
of  the  achievement  was  not  yet  estimated,  but  already 
names  hitherto  unknown  were  flung  up  flaming  into 
the  world's  sky  in  letters  of  eternal  fire,  Ovillers,  Ma- 
metz  Wood,  Trones  Wood,  Langueval,  Mouquet  Farm, 
Deville  Wood  for  the  British,  with  twenty-one  thousand 
prisoners,  and  Hardecourt,  Dompierre,  Becquin-Court, 


318     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Bussu  and  Fay  for  the  French  allies,  with  thirty-one 
thousand  prisoners. 

On  that  line  of  carefully  chosen  and  elaborately  forti- 
fied defences,  the  proudest  of  Germany's  supermen  of 
war  had  been  beaten  at  their  own  game  by  the  civilian 
soldiers  of  "effete  and  luxury  loving  Britain,"  and  the 
republican  armies  of  "decadent  France,"  and  still  the 
Homeric  fight  was  raging.  Foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard, 
the  Hun  was  fighting  to  hold  the  line  which  should  make 
good  his  insolent  claim  to  the  hegemony  of  the  world. 
Step  by  step,  yard  by  yard,  that  line  was  being  torn 
from  his  bloody  fingers.  Into  that  sea  of  fire  and  blood, 
the  Canadians  were  to  plunge.  They  remembered 
Langemarck  and  Sanctuary  Wood  and  St.  Eloi,  and  were 
not  unwilling  to  make  the  plunge.  They  thought  of 
those  long  months  in  The  Salient,  when  the  ruthless 
Hun  from  his  vantage  ground  of  overwhelming  superior- 
ity had  poured  his  deadly  hail  from  right  flank,  left 
flank,  front  and  rear,  upon  them,  holding,  suffering, 
dying,  day  by  day,  month  by  month,  and  they  were 
grimly  jubilant  over  the  chance  which  the  Somme  of- 
fered them  of  evening  somewhat  the  score. 

"We  have  something  to  hand  Fritzie,"  young  Pickles 
was  heard  to  remark  when  he  had  learned  of  the  qual- 
ity of  the  Somme  fighting,  "and  I  hope  he'll  like  it,  for 
he's  got  to  take  it." 

The  battalion  ranks,  both  officers  and  men,  had  once 
more  been  filled  up.  They  had  a  brief  fortnight's  train- 
ing in  the  new  open  fighting  under  barrage  and  then 
set  off  cheerfully  for  the  "Big  Game."  Ten  days  they 
marched  and  countermarched  in  the  back  country,  keep- 
ing clear  of  those  two  mighty  streams  "up"  and  "down," 
that  flowed  between  ditches  and  hedges  along  the  road 
that  led  to  the  great  arena,  and  catching  glimpses  and 
echoes  as  they  marched  until,  hard,  fit,  keen,  they  joined 
the  "upstream"  flowing  toward  Albert.  That  stream 
was  made  up  of  those  various  and  multifarious  elements 
that  go  to  constitute,  equip  and  maintain  a  modern  army. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  319 

There  were  marching  battalions,  with  their  mounted  offi- 
cers, bearing  names  and  insignia  famous  in  the  world's 
wars  for  two  hundred  years,  and  with  them  battalions 
who  a  few  brief  months  ago  were  peaceful  citizens,  know- 
ing nothing  of  war.  There  were  transport  columns, 
ammunition  columns,  artillery  columns,  with  mounted 
escorts.  There  were  big  guns,  on  huge  caterpillar  trucks, 
shouldering  the  lighter  traffic  to  the  ditches,  and  little 
guns  slipping  meekly  in  their  rear.  There  were  motor 
lorries,  honking  and  thundering  their  insistent  way 
through  dodging,  escaping,  cursing  infantry,  forty-six 
miles  of  them  to  a  single  army  corps.  There  were  strings 
of  mules  and  horses  with  weirdly  shaped  burdens  on  their 
pack  saddles.  There  were  motor  cars  bearing  "Brass 
Hats,"  gentle  looking  individuals,  excessively  polite,  yet 
somehow  getting  men  to  jump  when  they  spoke,  and 
everywhere  ambulances,  silent  and  swift  moving,  before 
whose  approach  the  stream  parted  in  recognition  of  the 
right  of  way  of  these  messengers  of  mercy  over  all  the 
enginery  of  war. 

The  "down  stream"  was  much  the  same,  with  here 
and  there  differences.  That  stream  flowed  more  swiftly. 
The  battalions  marched  with  more  buoyant  tread.  They 
had  done  their  part  and  without  shame.  They  had  met 
their  foes  and  seen  their  backs.  The  trucks,  transport 
and  ammunition  wagons  were  empty  and  coming  with  a 
rush.  Only  the  ambulances  moved  more  slowly.  Care- 
fully, with  watchful  avoidance  of  ruts  and  holes,  which, 
in  spite  of  the  army  of  road-mending  Huns,  broke  up  the 
surface  of  the  pavement,  these  ambulances  made  their 
way.  They  must  get  through  no  matter  what  was  held 
up. 

And  as  they  flowed  these  streams  ever  and  anon  broke 
their  banks  and  flooded  over  in  little  eddies  into  villages 
and  fields,  there  to  tarry  for  a  day  and  a  night,  only  to 
be  caught  up  again  in  either  one  of  those  resistless  in- 
evitable currents  of  war. 

"Look  before  you,  major,"  said  Barry,  who  was  rid- 


320     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

ing  with  the  Headquarters  Company  at  the  head  of  the 
column,  as  often  now  at  the  invitation  of  the  O.  C. 

The  column  was  slowly  climbing  a  long  gentle  sloping 
hill  that  reached  its  apex  some  two  or  three  miles  away. 
On  either  side,  spread  out  over  the  fields,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  were  military  encampments,  in  tents,  in 
huts  and  in  the  open.  Infantry  units,  horse  lines,  motor 
truck  parks,  repair  camps  for  motors  and  for  guns,  am- 
munition dumps  with  shells  piled  high,  supply  sheds 
bulging  with  their  canvas-covered  contents,  Red  Cross 
huts  and  marquees,  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tents  with  their 
cues  of  waiting  soldiers,  getting  "eats"  and  drinks,  and 
comforts  of  various  kinds.  The  whole  countryside  was 
one  mighty  encampment  packed  with  munitions  and  sup- 
plies and  thronging  with  horses,  mules  and  men. 

"This  is  war  on  the  'grand  scale,' "  said  the  O.  C. 
dropping  back  beside  them.  "From  the  top  of  this  hill 
we  can  see  Albert  and  a  part  of  the  most  famous  bat- 
tle-field of  all  time.  We  camp  just  outside  of  Albert  on 
what  is  known  as  the  'brick  field,'  and  in  a  couple  of 
days  more  we  shall  be  in  it.  Well,"  he  continued,  with 
a  glance  over  the  column  following,  "the  boys  never  were 
more  fit." 

"And  never  more  keen,"  said  the  major.  "They  are 
right  on  their  toes." 

"Major,  I  expect  to  meet  the  divisional  commander 
down  here,  and  I  want  you  to  be  there.  Captain  Dunbar, 
you  know  him,  I  believe.  He  has  asked  especially  that 
you  should  be  there  as  well." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  met  the  General.  To  my  mind  he 
is  an  ideal  soldier." 

"Yps,  and  an  ideal  officer,"  said  the  O.  C.  "He  knows 
his  job  and  he  is  always  fit  and  keen." 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  a  traffic  officer,  a  young  lieu- 
tenant from  the  Imperial  forces,  diverted  the  column 
from  the  road  into  a  field. 

"Why  is  this  ?"  inquired  the  O.  C. 

"There's  the  answer,  sir,"  said  the  officer  coolly. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  321 

There  was  a  long  drawn  whine  which  rapidly  grew 
into  a  shriek  and  an  H.  E.  shell  dropped  fair  in  the  road, 
a  short  distance  in  front. 

"Oh,  I  see.,  you  have  some  of  these  birds  down  in  this 
country,  too." 

"Yes,  sir,  this  is  their  breeding  ground,"  said  the  young 
lieutenant. 

Once  more  came  the  long  whining  shriek  and  the  ter- 
rific blast  of  the  H.  E.,  this  time  closer. 

"I  would  not  delay,  sir,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  young 
chap  coolly,  pulling  out  his  cigarette  case.  "They  get 
rather  ugly  at  times." 

"What  about  you?"  inquired  the  O.  C.  moving  off. 

"Part  of  my  job,  sir,"  replied  the  youth,  saluting. 

"Well,  good  luck,  boy,"  said  the  O.  C.,  trotting  to  the 
head  of  the  column. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  youth,  turning  to  his  job 
again. 

They  rode  a  hundred  yards,  when  another  shell  came, 
there  was  a  terrific  explosion,  apparently  just  at  the  spot 
where  the  young  officer  had  been  standing. 

"By  Jove !    I'm  afraid  that's  got  him,"  said  the  O.  C. 

"I'll  go  and  see,  sir,"  said  Barry,  spurring  his  horse 
back  to  the  spot. 

"Come  back  here,  Barry,"  called  the  major.  "Darn 
him  for  a  fool !  \Vhat's  the  use  of  that  ?  That  isn't  his 
job,"  he  added  angrily. 

"He  thinks  it  is,  probably,"  said  the  O.  C. 

Barry  found  a  great  hole  in  the  road  with  the  officer's 
horse  lying  disembowelled  beside  it,  kicking  in  his  death 
agony.  There  was  no  sign  of  his  rider  anywhere.  For- 
tunately there  was  a  gap  in  the  column,  so  that  no  one  else 
was  near  enough  to  be- injured. 

As  Barry  stood  gazing  about,  a  voice  hailed  him  from 
the  ditch,  which  was  several  feet  deep. 

"I  say,  sir,"  said  the  voice,  "I  wouldn't  just  stay  there. 
They  generally  send  over  four  of  'em.  That's  only  the 


322     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

third.  I  find  this  ditch  very  convenient,  though  some- 
what mucky." 

Barry  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  He  was  white 
and  shaken,  covered  with  mud,  but  trying  to  get  his  ciga- 
rette case  open. 

"I'd  get  off,  sir,  if  I  were  you,"  he  said,  "until  the 
next  one  comes.  Quick,  sir,  I  hear  it  now." 

Barry  needed  no  second  invitation.  He  flung  himself 
headlong  into  the  ditch  beside  the  young  fellow,  but  the 
shell  dropped  into  the  field  beyond. 

"That's  as  near  as  I  like  'em,"  said  the  young  officer, 
scraping  the  mud  off  his  clothes.  "My  poor,  old  gee-gee 
got  it  though."  He  drew  his  revolver  and  shot  the 
wounded  animal.  "It's  hard  on  the  horses.  You  see, 
they  can't  dodge,"  he  added. 

"I  say,  my  boy,"  said  Barry,  for  the  lieutenant  was 
only  a  boy,  "that  was  a  near  thing  for  you.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  now?" 

"Oh,  just  carry  on,"  said  the  boy.  "The  relief  will  be 
along  in  a  few  hours.  Beastly  mess,  eh?"  he  continued, 
but  whether  he  referred  to  the  disembowelled  horse  or 
the  state  of  his  own  uniform,  Barry  could  not  say. 

"You  are  sure  you  are  all  right?"  said  Barry,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  him.  "I'm  awfully  glad  you  weren't 
hurt" 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  boy  heartily.  "Awfully  rotten  to 
be  potted  out  here  playing  a  bally  policeman,  eh  ?  What  ? 
Well,  good  luck,  sir,"  and  Barry  rode  off  to  join  his 
column  with  a  deep  admiration  in  his  heart  for  the  Eng- 
lish school  boy  who,  when  war  began,  was  probably  a 
fifth  form  lad,  in  whose  life  the  most  dangerous  episode 
would  be  a  ball  taken  full  off  bat  at  point,  or  a  low  tackle 
on  the  Rugby  field. 

At  Divisional  Headquarters,  they  met  the  general, 
who  after  a  conversation  with  the  O.  C.  greeted  Barry 
warmly. 

"So  you  have  gone  and  done  it,  young  man.  Well,  I 
admire  your  nerve,  and  I  congratulate  you.  I  happen  to 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  323 

know  the  family  very  well.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there 
is  some  remote  connection,  I  believe.  By  the  way,  I 
have  a  communication  from  London  for  you,"  he  added, 
drawing  Barry  to  one  side,  and  giving  him  a  little  slip. 
"I  happen  to  know  about  it,"  he  continued,  while  Barry 
was  reading  his  telegram,  "and  say,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
assistance,  I  shall  be  very  glad.  It's  a  step  up,  you  see. 
I  have  no  doubt  it  can  be  put  through  quite  easily  and 
quickly,  and  I  believe  the  step  is  coming  to  you." 

Barry  stood  with  his  eyes  upon  the  dispatch.  It  was 
an  offer  of  a  hospital  appointment  at  the  base,  and  carried 
with  it  his  majority. 

"I  have  no  doubt  the  missus  will  be  pleased,  eh?"  said 
the  general  with  a  grin. 

Barry  pulled  out  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  opened  it 
and  handed  it  to  the  general,  pointing  to  a  paragraph. 
The  general  took  it  and  read, 

"And  Barry,  dear,  remember  that  though  you  have  a 
wife  now,  your  duty  to  your  country  is  still  your  first 
duty.  I  would  hate  that  any  thought  of  me  should  make 
it  harder  for  you  to  carry  on." 

The  general  folded  up  the  letter,  put  it  slowly  into  its 
envelope,  and  handed  it  back  to  Barry. 

"I  know  her,"  he  said  simply.  "I  should  expect  noth- 
ing else  from  her.  You  are  a  lucky  dog,  but,  of  course," 
he  added,  with  a  swift  glance  at  Barry's  face,  "some  one 
must  take  that  job." 

"I  fancy,  sir,  there  are  many  for  it,  who  are  hardly 
fit  for  this  work  up  here,"  replied  Barry  quietly.  "I 
think,  sir,  I'll  just  carry  on  where  I  am." 

"You  are  quite  sure?"  inquired  the  general.  "Don't 
you  want  a  day  or  two  to  think  it  over  ?" 

"I  am  quite  sure,  sir,"  said  Barry,  "I  am  quite  sure 
that  my  wife  would  approve." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  general,  "let  me  handle 
this  for  you,  and  let  me  say,  sir,  that  I  am  proud  to  have 
you  in  my  division." 


324     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

So  saying,  he  gripped  Barry's  hand  hard,  and  turned 
abruptly  away  to  the  others. 

They  rode  to  their  camp  in  almost  complete  silence, 
except  for  a  grunt  or  two  from  the  O.  C.  who  seemed  in 
a  grumpy  mood. 

When  they  arrived  at  Headquarters,  the  O.  C.  drew 
up  his  horse  and  turning  to  the  major,  said, 

"I  don't  know  just  what  to  do  with  this  Pilot  of  ours. 
He  is  a  fool  in  some  ways." 

"A  darned  fool,  sir,"  said  the  major  emphatically. 

"And,"  continued  the  major,  "I  am  selfish  enough  to 
say  that  I  am  damned  glad — I  won't  apologise,  Pilot — • 
that  he  decided  to  stay  with  us.  It  would  have  been  just 
a  little  harder  to  carry  on  if  he  had  left  us." 

"Yes,"  growled  the  major,  "but,  oh,  well,  we  have 
got  to  stick  it  I  guess.  The  Pilot  is  a  soldier  all  right." 

There  was  nothing  further  said  about  the  matter,  but 
next  day  as  Barry  walked  about  the  camp,  among  the 
men,  their  eyes  followed  him  as  he  passed,  and  every 
officer  in  the  mess  seemed  to  discover  an  errand  that  took 
him  to  Barry's  tent. 

Two  days  later  the  Canadians  moved  up  into  the  line 
and  took  over  from  the  Australians.  They  followed  the 
Bapaume  Road  toward  Pozieres,  passing  through  a  coun- 
try which  had  seen  the  heaviest  fighting  in  the  war. 

"This,"  said  the  O.  C.,  drawing  aside  from  the  road, 
and  riding  to  a  slightly  rising  ground,  "is  La  Boiselle,  or 
at  least  where  it  was,  and  that  I  fancy  is  the  famous  mine 
crater.  Sixty  thousand  pounds  of  gun  cotton  blew  up 
that  hole." 

There  was  absolutely  no  sign  of  the  village,  the  very 
foundations  of  the  houses,  and  the  cellars  having  the 
appearance  of  a  ploughed  field. 

"That  was  a  desperate  fight,"  continued  the  O.  C.  "It 
was  here  that  the  Middlesex  men  made  their  great  charge. 
Fifty  men  reported  from  the  battalion  when  it  was  over. 
In  that  village  they  had  a  whole  division  fighting  before 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  325 

they  were  through,  Middlesex  men,  Royal  Scots  and 
Irish,  for  three  days  and  three  nights." 

As  they  rode  along,  the  guns  on  either  side  began 
their  evening  chorus  and  from  the  far  rear  came  the 
roaring  rush  of  the  H.  E.s  like  invisible  express  trains 
hurtling  through  the  air.  It  was  music  to  their  ears, 
and  they  rode  forward  with  a  new  feeling  in  their  hearts, 
for  there  appeared  to  be  almost  no  reply  from  the  enemy 
guns. 

The  battalion  took  to  the  trenches  at  the  crossing  of 
the  Pozieres  Road,  and  so  effective  was  the  counter-bat- 
tery work  that  they  were  able  to  settle  down  into  their 
battle  positions  without  casualties.  The  R.  A.  P.  was  in 
a  deep  German  dug-out  thirty  feet  below  the  surface, 
with  double  entrances  and  heavily  timbered.  It  had 
been  most  elaborately  prepared,  planked  on  sides  and 
floor,  and  fitted  with  electric  lights.  There  were  two 
main  rooms,  with  a  connecting  corridor,  leading  to  each 
entrance.  They  found  an  Australian  medical  officer  in 
charge. 

"These  chaps  were  regular  settlers,  weren't  they?"  said 
Barry,  after  they  had  exchanged  greetings. 

"Yes,  sir,  they  intended  to  sty,  apparently,"  said  the 
Australian,  in  his  slow  drawl.  "We  found  some  letters 
on  a  wounded  officer  indicating  their  intention  to  remyn 
for  the  durytion,  but  we  wanted  the  plyce — couldn't  carry 
on  without  it  in  fact.  It's  quite  a  good  plyce,  too,"  he 
added  with  a  cheerful  grin. 

"Why,  it's  just  bully,"  said  the  M.  O.  "I  am  only 
sorry  that  we  can't  promise  you  as  good  in  The  Salient." 

"I  hear  it  is  rather  rotten,  eh,  sir?"  said  the  Aus- 
tralian. 

"Not  as  bad  as  Gallipoli,  though,"  said  Barry.  "By 
Jove!  You  Australian  chaps  did  magnificently  down 
there.  Must  have  been  a  perfect  hell." 

"Oh, 'yes,  quite  hot  for  a  while,  but  I  fancy  you  Cany- 
dians  didn't  have  any  afternoon  tea  party  in  The  Sylient, 


326     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

eh?  My  word,  there  was  some  fighting  there.  Oh, 
there  it  comes,"  he  added. 

As  he  spoke  a  muffled  explosion  was  heard,  and  the 
dug-out  rocked,  and  the  candles  flickered. 

"Can  they  get  you  down  here?"  inquired  the  M.  O. 

"I  fancy  a  direct  hit  from  a  really  big  H.  E.  would 
disturb  our  little  home,  but  nothing  else  would.  Of 
course,  a  shell  in  the  door  wye  would  be  a  bit  awkward, 
you  knaow,"  replied  the  Australian. 

The  night,  however,  passed  quietly,  and  except  for  a 
few  slightly  wounded  walking  cases,  there  was  little  work 
to  do.  The  Canadians  decided  that  in  coming  to  the 
Somme,  they  had  made  a  most  happy  exchange. 

A  quiet  day  followed  the  night,  but  the  whole  battalion 
was  keyed  up  with  intense  expectation  for  the  attack 
which  they  knew  was  fixed  for  the  night  following.  With 
expectation  mingled  curiosity.  They  knew  all  about 
raiding;  that  was  their  own  specialty,  but  they  were 
curious  as  to  the  new  style  of  fighting  which  they  knew 
to  be  awaiting  them,  the  capturing,  holding  and  consoli- 
dating of  a  line  of  enemy  trenches. 

Nightfall  brought  the  opportunity  to  gratify  their 
curiosity.  For  two  hours  before  the  attack,  their  guns 
put  down  the  barrage  to  cover  the  front  line  of  enemy 
trenches,  and  to  dispose  of  his  wire. 

The  M.  O.  and  Barry,  with  the  Australian  and  their 
whole  staff,  made  their  way  to  a  ridge  a  few  yards  distant 
to  see  the  show. 

"Great  Heaven,  what  is  that?"  inquired  the  M.  O., 
pointing  to  what  seemed  to  be  a  line  of  flickering  watch 
fires  upon  the  crest  of  a  neighbouring  rising  ground. 

"Guns !  Ours,"  said  the  Australian,  surprised  at  the 
M.  O.'s  excitement. 

"Guns!    My  Lord,  guns,  Barry,"  shouted  the  M.  O. 

"Guns  ?  And  in  the  open !  And  on  a  hill !  And  wheel 
to  wheel!"  cried  Barry.  "Thank  the  good  Lord  I  have 
lived  to  see  this  day.  Look  at  the  boys,"  he  added  in  a 
low  tone,  to  the  Australian  beside  him. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  327 

They  glanced  over  their  shoulders  and  saw  two  of  the 
orderlies  executing  a  fox-trot  in  the  heavy  shell-ploughed 
soil. 

"What's  the  row?"  inquired  the  Australian. 

"Why,  my  dear  chap,"  replied  the  M.  O.,  "don't  you 
know  we  have  never  seen  a  gun  in  action  in  the  open  that 
way.  Our  guns  operated  only  from  holes  and  corners, 
from  hedges  and  cellars.  Otherwise  they'd  be  spotted 
and  knocked  out  in  an  hour." 

"Ow !"  said  the  Australian,  "our  bird  men  attended  to 
that  the  first  dye  of  the  fight.  They  sye  there  was  a 
double  line  of  observation  balloons  along  the  lines,  ours 
and  theirs  up  to  the  3Oth  of  June.  The  next  morning 
not  a  Boche  balloon  was  to  be  seen.  Our  plynes  put 
their  eye  out  in  a  single  afternoon.  Since  that  time,  we 
hold  over  them  in  the  air.  Ah!  There  are  the  heavies 
coming  up  now.  The  full  chorus  will  be  on  in  half  a 
minute." 

A  few  seconds  later,  the  truth  of  the  Australian's 
prophecy  was  demonstrated.  The  full  chorus  was  on. 
For  two  hours  the  barrage  raged,  and  the  din  was  such 
that  they  had  to  shout  in  each  other's  ears  to  be  heard. 
The  hilltops  were  ringed  with  darting  tongues  of  red 
flame  as  though  belched  out  by  a  thousand  fabled  dragons. 
It  was  as  if  the  air  above  was  filled  with  millions  of  in- 
visible demons,  whining,  moaning,  barking,  shrieking  in 
a  fury  of  venomous  hate,  while  at  regular  intervals  came 
the  express  train  roar  of  the  twelve,  fifteen  and  sixteen 
inch  guns. 

"It's  almost  worth  while  to  have  lived  through  those 
months  in  The  Salient,"  said  Barry,  "to  get  the  full  en- 
joyment of  this  experience.  Well  do  I  remember  the 
day  when  our  O.  C.  asked  for  'retaliation,'  and  was  told 
he  could  have  six  rounds,  I  think  it  was,  or  eight.  Mean- 
while our  trenches  and  dug-outs  were  going  up  in  bloody 
mud." 

"I  think  we  might  as  well  go  below,"  said  the  Aus- 
tralian. "They  will  be  coming  in  presently." 


328     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

But  Barry  and  the  M.  O.  remained  long  after  the  first 
coming  in  shells  began  to  drop  around.  That  barrage  so 
long  waited  for,  and  so  ardently  desired,  was  worth  some 
risk. 

Soon  the  wounded  began  to  arrive,  and  throughout  the 
whole  night,  the  M.  O.  and  his  staff -were  busy  at  their 
work.  On  the  arrival  of  the  zero  hour,  the  barrage 
lifted. 

"Well,  good  luck^  go  with  the  boys,"  said  the  Aus- 
tralian, fervently.  "They  are  out  and  over  now.  We'll 
get  some  of  them  presently."  \ 

Throughout  the  night,  a  stream  of  walking  wounded 
kept  flowing  in.  Jubilant,  exultant  in  spite  of  their  pain, 
they  bore  with  them  the  joyful  report  that  they  had 
shifted  the  Hun  from  his  trenches  and  his  deep  dug-outs, 
and  were  still  advancing.  Singing  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  they  came  limping  in,  bloody  and  muddy,  but 
wild  with  exultation  and  joy.  The  day  long  looked  for 
by  the  Canadians  had  arrived.  They  were  getting  some- 
thing of  their  own  back. 

The  next  day  revealed  the  full  extent  of  the  achieve- 
ment. The  whole  Canadian  line  had  swept  forward  for 
over  a  thousand  yards,  had  captured  strong  points,  a  for- 
tified sunken  road,  the  famous  "sugar  refinery"  and, 
overrunning  their  objective,  had  captured  the  village  of 
Courcelette,  as  well.  It  was  a  gallant  little  fight,  and 
quite  a  notable  achievement. 

After  two  days  the  battalion  was  pulled  out,  having 
suffered  comparatively  slight  losses,  and  more  than  ready 
to  return  when  the  opportunity  should  come. 

The  next  three  weeks  were  spent  in  minor  operations, 
consolidating  positions,  repelling  counter-attacks,  and 
preparing  for  the  real  "big  go,"  in  which  the  Canadians 
were  to  take  their  part  in  the  advance  of  the  whole  allied 
line,  after  which  the  battalion  was  sent  into  reserve  for 
a  few  days'  respite. 

The  Canadian  line  was  gradually  wearing  thin,  but 
the  spirit  of  those  who  survived  was  the  spirit  of  the 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  329 

whole  allied  line, — the  spirit  that  claimed  victory  and 
was  not  to  be  denied.  As  to  the  nature  of  the  task  await- 
ing them,  however,  they  well  knew  that  it  was  to  be  a 
fight  in  which  the  last  ounce  of  resolution  and  only  the 
last  ounce  would  carry  them  through  to  their  objective. 

The  experiences  of  the  allies  during  the  past  months 
had  wrought  in  them  a  settled  conviction  that  victory 
was  awaiting  them,  and  a  settled  resolution  that  that 
victory  they  would  secure  at  all  cost  soever. 

At  length  the  day  arrived,  a  dull  October  day,  over- 
hung with  rain  clouds  and  thick  with  chill  mist.  On  the 
parade  ground  the  battalion  was  drawn  up  for  the  service 
which  always  preceded  an  attack. 

The  operations  of  the  past  month  had  reduced  the 
battalion  to  about  half  its  righting  strength.  Only  some 
five  hundred  men,  with  officers  barely  sufficient  to  direct 
their  movements,  looked  back  at  Barry  through  the  mist 
as  he  faced  them  for  the  service. 

"Truly  my  soul  waiteth  upon  God :  from  him  cometh 
my  salvation,"  he  read.  The  psalm  might  have  been  writ- 
ten for  the  occasion. 

"He  only  is  my  rock  and  my  salvation;  he  is  my  de- 
fence :  I  shall  not  be  moved. 

"My  soul,  wait  thou  only  upon  God :  for  my  expecta- 
tion is  from  him. 

"He  only  is  my  rock  and  my  salvation:  he  is  my  de- 
fence :  I  shall  not  be  moved. 

"In  God  is  my  salvation,  and  my  glory :  the  rock  of  my 
strength,  and  my  refuge  is  in  God. 

"Trust  in  him  at  all  times;  ye  people,  pour  out  your 
heart  before  him.  God  is  a  refuge  for  us." 

Barry  made  only  a  single  comment  upon  the  psalm, 
"Men,  nothing  can  move  God,  and  nothing  can  move 
those  whose  trust  is  in  God.  Remember  God  is  to 
be  trusted." 

The  reading  was  followed  by  the  General  Confession, 
the  Absolution  and  a  brief  extemporary  prayer,  conclud- 
ing with  the  Lord's  Prayer.  As  Barry  was  mounting 


330     THE  SKY  PILOT  P~  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

his  horse  a  runner  brought  him  an  order  from  his  divi- 
sional chief,  directing  him  L:  report  at  the  casualty  clear- 
ing station  in  Albert  for  immediate  duty.  He  carried 
the  order  to  the  O.  C. 

"Look  at  this !"  he  stormed. 

"Too  bad !  Too  bad !"  said  the  O.  C.  "Rotten  luck 
for  you." 

"Look  here,  sir,"  said  Barry,  "I  have  always  gone 
up  with  the  battalion,  and  I  think " 

"I  fancy  they  are  getting  on  to  you,  Dunbar.  You 
know  you  have  rather  shirked  the  C.  C.  S.  duty,"  said 
the  O.  C.  with  a  smile. 

"Isn't  there  some  way  out  of  this?  If  I  got  a  substi- 
tute  " 

"A  soldier  obeys  orders,  Captain  Dunbar,"  said  the 
O.  C.  gravely. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know,  but " 

"And  he  doesn't  say  'but',"  continued  the  O.  C.  "No, 
Barry,"  he  added  in  a  kindly  voice,  "I  have  no  responsi- 
bility or  authority  in  this.  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  come 
up  with  us.  We  are  going  into  the  'big  thing'  this  time, 
I  know,  but  perhaps  it's  just  as  well.  You  go  your  way 
and  we'll  go  ours.  I'd  like  to  say  this  to  you,  however, 
my  boy,  you  have  been  a  great  heJp  to  me  with  the  men." 

His  tone  was  grave  but  kind,  and  it  sent  to  Barry's 
heart  a  chill  of  foreboding.  "Good-bye,  Barry,"  he 
added,  shaking  hands  with  him. 

"Good-bye,  sir.  Good  luck,  sir.  May  I  say,  sir,"  said 
Barry,  "that  you  have  helped  me  immensely  with  my 
duty." 

"Do  you  say  so,  Barry?"  said  the  O.  C.,  a  note  of 
surprise  in  his  voice.  "I'm  delighted  to  know  that." 

"God  keep  you,  sir,"  said  Barry  earnestly. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  We  are  in  His  keeping,  aren't  we?" 
and  turning  in  his  saddle,  he  gave  the  order  to  advance. 

Barry  rode  with  the  column  to  the  very  mouth  of  the 
communication  trench  running  to  Pozieres,  dropping  into 
step  with  each  company  commander  for  a  time,  and  leav- 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  331 

ing  each  with  a  cheery  word  of  farewell.  At  the  mouth 
of  the  trench,  he  stood  watching  the  men  as  they  stepped 
down  and  out  of  his  sight,  giving  them  a  word  of  good 
cheer  and  good  luck  as  they  passed,  and  receiving  in  re- 
turn answering  smiles  and  greetings.  Then  with  eyes 
unseeing,  he  rode  back  to  camp,  heavy  of  heart,  for  he 
knew  well  that  many  of  these  faces  he  would  see  no 
more. 

The  zero  hour  was  fixed  for  five  a.  m.  the  following 
morning.  As  the  hour  drew  near,  Barry  at  his  work  in 
the  C.  C.  S.,  found  in  his  heart  the  words  of  the  psalm, 
"My  soul  wait  thou  only  upon  God  ...  I  shall  not  be 
moved."  That  wounds  and  death  were  awaiting  many 
of  them  he  well  knew,  and  his  prayer  was  that  they  might 
meet  the  fate  appointed  them  with  unshaken  faith  and 
courage. 

By  seven  o'clock  the  wounded  began  to  arrive  and  an 
hour  later  the  C.  A.  M.  C.  marquee  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  a  cue  of  wounded  men  forming  outside 
in  the  falling  rain.  The  suffering  in  their  pale  and  pa- 
tient faces  stirred  in  him  a  poignant  sympathy.  There 
was  the  chaplain  service  tent  adjoining.  He  ran  to  find 
the  chaplain  in  charge. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "may  we  use  your  marquee  for 
wounded  men?" 

"Sure  thing.  It  will  never  be  used  for  a  better  pur- 
pose." 

Barry  returned  to  the  O.  C.  of  the  C.  C.  S. 

"Why  not  direct  that  a  part  of  this  stream  be  sent  to 
the  adjoining  tent  for  registration,  and  for  anti-tetanus 
hypodermics?  These  poor  chaps  are  standing  out  in  the 
rain,  chilled  to  the  bone  and  ready  to  drop." 

"For  Heaven's  sake  do  it,"  said  the  O.  C.  "We  are 
really  up  against  it  here.  Can  you  take  that  off  my 
hands?" 

"I'll  try,"  said  Barry. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  congestion  at  the  door  of  the 
marquee  was  relieved  and  the  wounded  men,  to  their 


332     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAX'S  LAND 

own  vast  comfort,  were  bestowed  upon  the  benches  and 
chairs  in  the  chaplain  service  tent.  But  something  fur- 
ther was  necessary  to  their  comfort. 

"Draper,"  said  Barry  to  the  chaplain  in  charge  of  the 
tent,  "you  see  these  men?  They  have  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  last  night.  They  have  fought  a  battle,  been 
wounded,  and  walked  out  some  five  miles  or  so,  since 
then.  It's  eight  o'clock  now.  What  about  it?" 

"What  about  it?"  exclaimed  the  chaplain.  "You 
watch  me !" 

He  ran  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent,  enlisted  the  secretary's 
aid  and  in  twenty  minutes  they  together  had  transported 
to  the  chaplain  service  tent  coffee  and  cocoa  urns,  and 
with  an  organised  band  of  assistants  were  supplying  the 
wounded  with  warming  and  comforting  nourishment. 
Never  had  those  splendid  services  more  quickly  and  ef- 
fectively justified  their  place  in  the  army. 

With  the  wounded  came  rumours,  more  or  less  fan- 
tastic, of  disaster.  Something  terrible  had  befallen  the 
whole  Canadian  line.  It  was  difficult  to  get  at  the  truth. 
As  with  all  rumours,  they  contradicted  each  other  and 
left  the  mind  in  a  chaos  of  perplexity.  The  battalion  had 
run  into  wire,  where  the  machine  guns  had  found  it,  the 
battalion  was  practically  wiped  out,  it  had  found  cover  in 
a  trench  and  was  still  holding  on,  the  O.  C.  was  wounded, 
the  O.  C.  was  killed,  and  with  him  every  company  com- 
mander. 

Again  and  again,  Barry  sent  men  to  the  signals  to 
learn  the  truth,  but  it  was  found  impossible  to  get  a  mes- 
sage through.  That  an  overwhelming  disaster  had  be- 
fallen his  battalion  was  abundantly  evident  from  the  num- 
bers of  wounded.  With  his  heart  growing  numb  with 
pain  he  struggled  with  his  work.  Gradually,  he  was 
forced  to  accept  as  true  that  a  large  proportion  of  the 
battalion  were  casualties,  that  the  O.  C.  was  wounded, 
possibly  dying,  that  many  of  the  officers  had  fallen  and 
that  the  remainder  were  still  holding  a  precarious  posi- 
tion, and  fighting  for  their  lives. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  333 

"I  shall  not  be  moved,"  he  had  read  to  them  last  night. 
The  promise  was  being  fulfilled  in  the  men  of  his  bat- 
talion. They  could  die  at  the  wire  or  in  the  trench,  but 
they  could  not  be  moved.  While  mechanically  carrying 
on  his  work,  his  mind  was  with  the  fighting,  dying  rem- 
nant of  his  comrades.  The  O.  C.  of  the  C.  C.  S.  passing 
on  his  rounds  found  Barry  carrying  on  with  tears  blind- 
ing his  eyes  so  that  he  could  hardly  see  the  figures  he  was 
entering  in  his  record. 

"Your  men  are  having  a  hell  of  a  time,  I  hear,"  said 
the  O.  C.  "I  say,  boy,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Barry's 
haggard  face,  "let  up  for  a  while." 

"I'm  all  right,  sir,"  said  Barry,  through  his  teeth. 
"Excuse  me,  really  I'm  all  right.  It  is  a  bit  difficult  to 
carry  on  when  you  know  that  your  friends  are  being  cut 
to  pieces,  but  I'm  all  right,  sir." 

"All  right,  my  boy,"  said  the  O.  C.,  "we're  up  against 
it  to-day.  I'll  come  for  you  in  a  few  minutes,  and  we'll 
have  a  bit  to  eat." 

Barry  shook  his  head.  He  was  too  sick  to  eat,  but  the 
O.  C.  knew  better  than  he  just  what  he  wanted.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  returned  with  an  assistant  who  took 
Barry's  place. 

"Come  along,  boy,"  said  the  O.  C  cheerfully.  "We 
have  got  to  feed  the  living  that  we  may  care  for  the 
wounded  and  dying." 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir,"  said  Barry.  "I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  I'll  be  fit  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Don't  apologise  for  one  moment,"  said  the  colonel, 
"if  you  felt  any  less  deeply  than  you  do,  you'd  be  some- 
thing less  than  a  man.  We'll  get  into  touch  with  the 
Divisional  Headquarters,  and  try  to  get  the  facts." 

He  had  no  sooner  reached  his  private  room  than  his 
signaller  informed  him  that  Divisional  Headquarters 
had  just  been  trying  to  get  him.  It  took  some  time, 
however,  to  get  the  message  through.  Meantime,  the 
Colonel  was  handling  Barry  with  a  wise  and  skillful 
touch.  He  made  him  eat  and  eat  heartily,  seeking  to  di- 


B34     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

vert  his  mind  in  the  meantime  from  the  disaster  that  had 
befallen  the  battalion  to  the  big  issues  at  stake,  and 
pointing  out  with  resolute  cheerfulness  that  the  calamity 
that  had  befallen  the  battalion  was  only  a  temporary  set- 
back. 

"We're  winning,  my  boy,  and  we're  paying  the  price," 
he  said. 

At  length  signals  got  the  D.  H.  Q.  and  called  the 
colonel  to  the  phone.  After  a  few  minutes'  conversa- 
tion, the  O.  C.  called  Barry. 

"The  general  wants  to  speak  to  you,  padre,"  and  Barry 
with  an  apprehensive  heart  went  to  the  phone. 

"Oh,  that  you,  Captain  Dunbar?"  It  was  the  general's 
voice  and  somehow  it  carried  with  it  an  atmosphere  of 
calm  and  cheerful  confidence.  "How  are  you  getting 
on?" 

"Oh,  sir,  very  well.  We  are  terribly  anxious,  of 
course." 

"That's  natural,"  said  the  general  quietly.  "We  have 
had  rather  a  serious  reverse.  Your  whole  brigade  met 
with  wire,  and  I  fear  they  suffered  heavily.  The  men 
behaved  with  great  steadiness  and  are  still  splendidly 
holding.  We  are,  of  course,  making  every  effort  to  re- 
lieve them,  and  with  good  hope  of  success. 

"Have  you  heard  of  my  O.  C.  ?"  inquired  Barry. 

"I  fear  rather  bad  news,  Dunbar.  Indeed,  I  fear  he  is 
seriously  wounded.  We  have  sent  him  straight  on  to 
Contay.  Your  officers  have  suffered  quite  severely." 

"Have  you  heard  what  the  casualties  are,  sir?" 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  the  General.  "We  shall  not 
know  until  evening,  but  we  must  be  prepared  for  a  heavy 
loss.  By  the  way,  can  you  be  spared  from  the  casualty 
clearing  station?  I  hear  you  are  doing  fine  work  there. 
If  you  can  run  up,  I  can  send  my  car  for  you." 

"I'm  afraid  not,  sir,  just  now.  Perhaps  later  on  in  the 
afternoon." 

"Let  me  speak  to  Colonel  James,"  said  the  general. 

The  O.  C.  came  to  the  phone. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  335 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said. — "Well,  we  are  short  handed  just 
now. — He  is  really  necessary  at  the  present  moment. — 
Yes,  later  on  we'll  send  him  up. — Very  well,  sir, — We 
are  doing  our  best." 

The  calm  and  confident  bearing  of  his  superior  officer, 
made  Barry  ashamed  of  the  unnerving  emotion  from 
which  he  had  been  suffering  all  morning.  He  returned 
to  his  work  resolved  to  put  aside  all  personal  considera- 
tions. The  thing  in  which  they  were  engaged  was  vastly 
more  important  than  the  fate  of  any  individual  or  of  any 
battalion.  Victory  was  necessary,  was  guaranteed,  and 
was  demanding  its  price.  That  price  was  being  paid, 
and  to  that  price  every  man  must  make  his  contribution. 

Toward  night  the  stream  of  wounded  gradually  grew 
less,  and  the  O.  C.  sent  Barry,  in  a  returning  ambulance, 
up  to  the  Divisional  Headquarters.  The  serenity  with 
which  the  general  received  him  did  much  to  restore 
Barry's  poise,  which  had  been  severely  shaken  by  the 
strain  of  the  night  and  day  with  the  wounded  in  the 
casualty  clearing  station  and  by  the  heartracking  agony 
he  had  suffered  over  the  loss  of  his  comrades. 

"Come  in,  Dunbar,"  said  the  general  kindly.  "Take 
a  seat  for  a  few  minutes.  Have  a  cigar.  These  you 
will  find  are  good,  I  think." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  take  a  cigarette,  if  I  may," 
said  Barry,  helping  himself  from  a  box  on  the  table. 

He  had  not  been  many  minutes  in  the  dug-out  until  he 
began  to  catch  the  reactions  of  the  place.  The  spirit  was 
one  of  controlled  but  concentrated  energy.  It  was  the 
spirit  of  the  divisional  commander,  and  it  passed  from 
him  to  the  humblest  orderly  in  the  room.  There  was 
swiftness  of  action,  alertness  of  mind,  and  with  these  a 
complete  absence  of  hurry  or  confusion.  Runners  were 
continually  arriving  with  urgent  messages,  phones  insist- 
ing upon  immediate  answer,  officers  coming  in  with 
business  of  vast  importance,  but  with  no  sign  of  flurry, 
the  work  of  the  Divisional  Headquarters  went  swiftly 
and  smoothly  on. 


336     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

At  length  there  was  a  pause  in  the  rush  of  calls  upon 
the  general's  attention. 

"Come  in  this  way,"  he  said  to  Barry,  and  led  him  to 
a  smaller  room  at  the  back  of  the  dug-out. 

"Very  comfortable  quarters  these.  They  seem  to  have 
done  themselves  quite  well,  haven't  they  ?  It  is  most  con- 
venient, for  we  certainly  should  not  have  taken  pains  to 
construct  such  elaborate  dug-outs  as  these  we  have  fallen 
heir  to.  Find  a  seat,  Dunbar.  I  have  got  the  latest  re- 
ports." His  voice  was  very  gentle  and  very  kindly. 
"Yes,"  he  continued,  "we  have  had  a  bad  night's  work. 
Uncut  wire  and  an  enfilade  from  a  redoubt  which  should 
have  been  blown  up.  The  casualties  are  very  heavy." 

"What  are  they  ?"  Barry  asked. 

"Quite  heavy,  Dunbar,  I'm  afraid.  Only  some  fifty 
have  reported  so  far." 

"Fifty!"  cried  Barry.     "Out  of  five  hundred!" 

"There  will  doubtless  some  more  drop  in,"  added 
the  general,  "but  we  must  be  prepared  for  a  heavy  loss, 
far  heavier,  both  in  officers  and  men,  than  we  can  afford. 
The  Battalion  Headquarters  was  terribly  wrecked  by 
a  succession  of  direct  hits.  Only  a  few  of  the  staff 
escaped  unhurt.  Colonel  Leighton  was  a  fine  officer.  I 
had  a  great  admiration,  indeed,  affection,  for  him.  I 
know  how  you  felt  towards  him,  and  he  to  you." 

The  steadiness  in  his  voice  brought  quiet,  but  the  kind- 
ness in  it  brought  strength,  and  comfort.  Barry  be- 
came suddenly  aware  of  the  crushing  load  of  responsi- 
bility upon  this  gentle-voiced  man.  He  was  eager  to 
help. 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  am  sure 
we  are  all  ready  to  do  our  best." 

"I  know  that,  Dunbar,  and  all  are  needed.  Major 
Duff  has  gone  out  badly  injured.  The  only  officers  re- 
maining unhurt  in  the  front  line  are  Major  Bayne  and 
Captain  Fraser,  both  of  whom  are  splendidly  carrying 
on.  And  you,  too,  have  given  great  help  to-day.  Colonel 
James  assures  me  that  your  initiative  and  resourcefulness 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  337 

were  of  the  greatest  service  to  him.  Oh,  by  the  way,  a 
message  came  through  in  a  letter  the  other  day,  that  I 
should  have  sent  you,  but  other  things  put  it  out  of  my 
mind,  I  am  sorry  to  say."  He  touched  a  bell.  "You  see 
I  had  to  tell  your  wife,  Dunbar,  of  your  determination  to 
stay  by  us,"  he  added  with  a  smile.  "Get  me  my  private 
post-bag,  please,"  he  said  to  the  orderly.  He  selected  a 
letter  from  a  packet,  opened  it,  and  pointed  to  a  page. 
Barry  recognised  the  handwriting  as  his  wife's.  He 
read: 

"I  need  not  assure  you  it  was  none  of  my  family's 
doing  to  get  that  appointment  for  Barry.  I  was  not  sur- 
prised that  he  declined  it,  but  then  you  see  I  know  Barry. 
He  is  at  the  place  where  I  would  want  him  to  be." 

Barry  kept  his  eyes  steadily  upon  the  words  until  he 
should  be  sure  of  his  voice.  His  heart  was  thrilling  with 
pride  in  the  girl  who  had  given  herself  to  him.  As  the 
moments  passed,  he  there  and  then  vowed  that  by  God's 
grace,  he  would  not  shame  her  nor  belie  her  trust  in  him. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  quietly,  handing  the  letter 
back. 

"Helps  a  bit,  eh,  what?"  said  the  general.  "We  can't 
let  our  women  down,  can  we?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Barry.  "Is  there  nothing  I  can  do?" 
His  voice  was  as  steady  and  quiet  as  the  general's. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  just  the  C.  C.  S.,  I  fancy,  at  present." 

At  that  point  the  door  opened,  and  the  corps  com- 
mander came  in,  wearing  a  very  tired  and  anxious  face. 

"Bad  business,  general,"  he  said,  with  a  single  word 
of  greeting  and  ignoring  Barry. 

"Yes,  a  very  bad  business,  sir,"  said  the  divisional 
commander,  and  Barry  fancied  he  caught  a  new  note  in 
his  voice,  a  note  of  sternness,  almost  of  challenge. 

"Seems  that  we  missed  that  wire,  eh,  along  here?" 
said  the  corps  commander,  putting  his  finger  upon  a 
map  which  lay  on  the  table. 

"We  must  have  that  patrolled  very  carefully,  you 
know."  There  was  a  note  of  criticism  in  his  voice. 


338     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  corps  commander  courteously. 
"I  wasn't  at  all  sure  that  the  wire  was  cut,  and  so  re- 
ported." 

"Ah!" 

"This  strong  point  should  have  been  removed,"  con- 
tinued the  divisional  commander,  putting  his  finger  upon 
a  point  of  junction.  "That  I  asked  to  be  done,  but  Mc- 
Dowell seems  to  have  missed  it." 

"Ah!" 

"The  enfilade  got  us  from  that  point,  of  course." 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  implication  in  the  gen- 
eral's words. 

"Ah!    You  reported  that,  eh?" 

"You  will  find  it  in  my  report,  sir.  My  division  has 
suffered  very  heavily  from  that  strong  point." 

The  corps  commander  turned,  and  apparently  ob- 
serving Barry  for  the  first  time  started  and  said, 

"You  are " 

"My  friend,  Captain  Dunbar,"  said  the  general. 

"Ah,  Captain  Dunbar,"  said  the  corps  commander, 
obviously  annoyed  at  his  presence  at  the  interview.  "I 
trust  Captain  Dunbar  is  quite " 

"Captain  Dunbar's  reticence,"  said  the  general  with 
quiet  courtesy,  "can  be  entirely  trusted.  He  has  just 
been  doing  some  fine  work  at  the  C.  C.  S." 

"Ah,  yes.  You  are  a  padre,  Dunbar  ?  Oh,  I  remember 
to  have  heard  about  you.  Very  glad,  indeed,  to  meet 
you,  sir.  Well,  I  must  be  off.  We'll  see  to  that  strong 
point  at  once,  general.  Good-night — good-night,  Dun- 
bar." 

The  general  returned  from  seeing  his  visitor  out.  "Of 
course,  we  keep  these  things  to  ourselves." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Barry. 

"And  now,"  said  the  general  with  a  kindly  smile,  "I 
have  kept  the  good  news  to  the  last.  Your  majority  is 
coming  through,  and  here  is  a  letter  which  came  in  my 
care.  Now,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  leave  you  to  take 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  339 

a  bit  of  a  rest.  There's  a  cot,  if  you  want  to  lie  down. 
Then  we'll  have  a  bite  to  eat  later." 

"Oh,  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Barry  eagerly, 
taking  the  letter.  "This  is  good  news,  indeed.  My  let- 
ters have  been  going  astray  somehow.  I  have  not  had 
one  for  a  week." 

"As  long  as  that,"  said  the  general  with  uplifted 
brows. 

One  sentence  in  his  letter  made  music  in  Barry's  heart. 

"And  oh,  my  heart's  beloved,  God  has  been  good  to  me 
and  to  you,  for  when  the  war  is  over,  I  hope  there  will 
be  two  of  us  to  welcome  daddy  back."  To  which  sen- 
tence Barry  in  his  letter,  written  in  immediate  reply, 
said, 

"Yes,  dear,  dear  heart,  God  has  been  good  to  us,  in 
that  he  has  given  us  to  each  other,  and  to  us  both  this 
wonderful  new  life  to  carry  on  when  we  are  done." 

When  the  general  returned,  he  found  Barry  with  his 
face  on  his  arms  and  dead  asleep. 

"Poor  chap,"  he  said  to  his  batman,  "he  is  done  up. 
Let  him  rest  a  bit." 

They  gave  him  an  hour,  after  which  they  had  their 
bite  together. 

"Now,  general,"  said  Barry,  "I  should  like  to  run  up 
to  Battalion  Headquarters.  I  might  be  of  use  there." 

"That's  quite  all  right,"  said  the  general.  "You  will 
be  glad  to  know  that  that  strong  point  has  already  been 
attended  to.  You  didn't  hear  the  row,  did  you  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well  the  relief  is  going  in  and  your  men  will  soon 
be  out." 

When  Barry  entered  the  Battalion  Headquarters,  he 
found  only  Major  Bayne  and  Captain  Neil,  with  a  sig- 
naller and  a  couple  of  runners,  completing  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  relief. 

"You!  Pilot!"  exclaimed  the  major,  as  he  gripped 
his  hand.  "Now  what  the  devil  brought  you  here?" 


340     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Couldn't  help  it,  major.  Simply  had  to  come.  I 
have  been  trying  to  get  you  all  day,"  said  Barry. 

"Awfully  glad  to  see  you,  old  chap,"  said  Captain  Neil, 
for  the  major  was  finding  difficulty  with  his  speech. 

"How  many  left,  major?"  said  Barry. 

"Five  officers  and  seventy  men,"  said  the  major  in 
a  husky  voice.  "My  God,  how  those  boys  stuck." 

"I  shall  not  be  moved,"  quoted  Barry. 

"That's  it!  That's  it!"  said  the  major.  "Not  the 
devil  himself,  let  alone  the  Huns,  could  move  them  back 
from  that  wire.  What  is  it,  Sergeant  Matthews?"  he 
inquired  of  the  sergeant  who  came  in  at  that  moment. 
"Have  you  completed  your  work?" 

Sergeant  Matthews  was  pale,  panting  and  exhausted. 
"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  think  so.  I  didn't— I  didn't — go 
quite  the  full  length  of  the  trench.  The  boys  said  there 
was  no  one  up  there." 

"But,  Sergeant  Matthews,"  thundered  the  major, 
"your  orders  were  to  go  to  the  very  end  of  the  trench. 
You  know  this  battalion  never  goes  out  leaving  its 
wounded  behind." 

"We  had  a  full  load,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant,  leaning 
against  the  wall. 

"Well,  you  will  have  to  go  back,"  said  the  major, 
"and  complete  the  job.  Can  you  carry  on?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  so,  sir." 

As  he  spoke  Sergeant  Matthews  swayed  along  the  wall 
and  collapsed  onto  a  bench. 

"Give  him  a  shot  of  rum,"  said  the  major  curtly  to  a 
runner. 

"Let  me  go,  major.  I'll  take  the  party,"  said  Barry 
eagerly.  "The  sergeant  is  all  in.  I've  had  an  hour's 
sleep  and  a  feed  and  I  feel  quite  fit." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  the  sergeant  will  be  all  right  soon," 
said  the  major  impatiently. 

"But,  major,  I  should  like  to  go.  The  sergeant  is 
played  out  and  I  am  perfectly  fit.  We  can't  take  the  risk 
of  leaving  wounded  men  up  there  in  that  trench.  Be- 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  341 

sides,-  there's  little  danger  now.  The  strong  point  is 
blown  up,  so  the  general  told  me  before  I  left." 

"No,  Barry,  I  won't  allow  it.  I  won't  take  the  chance," 
said  the  major.  "My  God,  man!  there  are  only  five 
officers  left.  I  have  lost  every  friend  I  have  got  in  the 
battalion,  except  Neil  here  and  you.  I'm  damned  if  I'm 
going  to  let  you  go  out  over  No  Man's  Land." 

"Steady,  now,  major,"  said  Barry.  "I'm  going  to  take 
a  walk  to  the  end  of  that  trench,  just  in  case  one  of  the 
boys  should  be  there.  Don't  say  no.  It  must  be  done 
and  done  carefully." 

"All  right,  Barry,"  said  the  major,  suddenly  yielding. 
"Better  take  the  sergeant  with  you.  He  knows  the  way, 
and  I  guess  he's  all  right  now." 

The  major  and  Captain  Neil  followed  the  party  up  the 
stairs  and  out  into  the  trench.  It  was  a  beautiful  starry 
night,  and  all  was  quiet  now  along  the  front. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  said  the  major,  as  he  and  Captain 
Neil  stood  together  watching  the  party  away.  "I  feel 
queer  about  it,  Neil.  I  tell  you  I  wish  I  hadn't  let  him 
go,  but  he  is  so  darned  stubborn  about  what  he  thinks  is 
his  duty." 

"By  Jove!  Major,  he  always  bucks  me  up  somehow," 
said  Captain  Neil. 

"Bucks  us  all  up,"  said  the  major,  and  he  turned  to 
take  up  again  the  heavy  burden  of  responsibility  so  sud- 
denly and  so  terribly  laid  upon  him.  The  relief  had 
been  completed,  and  the  last  N.  C.  O.  had  just  reported 
"all  clear."  The  Headquarters  Company,  now  reduced 
to  a  poor  half  dozen,  were  standing  ready  to  move,  when 
the  telephone  rang. 

"Yes,  doctor,"  said  the  major,  answering  it.  "Oh, 
my  God!  My  God!  Not  that,  doctor!  Oh,  God  help 
us  all !  I'll  be  right  down.  It's  the  Pilot,  Neil,"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  friend.  "Just  take  charge,  will  you  please. 
I  must  run." 

Breathless  he  arrived  at  the  R.  A.  P. 


342     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

"Any  chance,  doctor?"  he  asked  of  the  M.  O.  who 
was  standing  awaiting  him  at  the  door. 

"Not  the  very  least,  major,  and  he  only  has  a  few 
minutes.  He  wants  you." 

"Now,  may  God  help  me,"  said  the  major  standing 
quite  still  a  moment  or  two.  "How  did  he  get  it?"  he 
asked  of  a  stretcher  bearer.  "Do  you  know?" 

"Yes,  sir,  we  had  just  picked  up  the  last  man.  Ser- 
geant Matthews  got  a  wound  in  the  leg,  and  we  had  to 
carry  him.  Just  as  we  started,  they  got  to  shelling  pretty 
bad  and  we  dropped  into  a  hole.  I  looked  over  my 
shoulder  and  there  was  the  Pilot,  the  chaplain,  sir,  I 
mean,  with  his  body  spread  over  Sergeant  Matthews,  to 
keep  off  the  shrapnel.  It  was  there  he  got  it." 

"Damn  Sergeant  Matthews,"  exclaimed  the  major, 
and  passed  on. 

Barry  was  lying  on  a  stretcher,  very  white  and  very 
still,  but  the  smile  with  which  he  welcomed  the  major 
was  very  bright. 

"Awfully  sorry — for  you, — old  chap,"  he  whispered. 
"Couldn't  really — help — it — you  know — we — got — them 
all — I'm — awfully — glad — to  see  you — just  a  minute — 
before — before " 

The  major,  by  this  time,  was  weeping  quietly. 

"You  have — been — a  good  friend — to  me — major — . 
We — have  had — a  good — time — together — .  Say — good- 
bye— to — the  boys — for — me — and — to— to — Neil." 

"Oh,  Barry,  boy,"  said  the  major,  brokenly.  "It's 
hard  to  have  you  go.  You  have  helped  us  all." 

Barry  fumbled  with  weak  fingers  at  his  breast.  The 
major  opened  his  tunic  thinking  that  he  needed  air. 

"My — my — let-ter "  he  whispered. 

The  major  took  the  letter  from  his  breast  pocket,  and 
put  it  in  his  hand.  Barry  held  it  a  moment,  then  carried 
it  to  his  lips. 

"Now— that's— all— major,"  he  whispered.  "Tell— 
her — I — thank — God — for — her — and — for — the — other. 


THE  PILOT'S  LAST  PORT  343 

Major — tell — the  boys — that — God — is  good- — .     Never 

— to  be — afraid — but  to — carry  on " 

It  was  his  last  word,  and  there  could  be  no  better. 
"God  is  good.     Never  be  afraid  but  carry  on/' 


CHAPTER  XX 
"CARRY  ON" 

THE  next  day  but  one  they  carried  the  Pilot  to  his 
grave  in  the  little  plot  outside  the  walled  cemetery 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  city  of  Albert.  It  had  been  ar- 
ranged that  only  a  small  guard  should  follow  to  the 
grave.  But  this  plan  was  changed.  Sergeant  Mackay, 
who  was  the  only  sergeant  left,  after  consulting  "the 
boys,"  came  to  Major  Bayne. 

"The  boys  feel  bad,  sir,"  he  said,  "that  they  can't  go 
with  the  Pilot,  excuse  me,  sir,  the  chaplain." 

"Do  they?"  said  the  major.  "We  want  to  avoid  con- 
gestion in  the  streets,  and  besides  we  don't  want  to  ex- 
pose the  men.  They  are  still  shelling  the  city,  you  know." 

"I  know,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant.  "The  boys  have 
heard  the  shells  before,  sir.  And  there's  not  so  many  of 
them  that  they  will  crowd  the  streets  much." 

"Let  them  go,  sergeant,"  said  the  major,  and  Ser- 
geant Mackay  went  back  with  the  word  to  the  men. 
"And  I  want  you  to  look  like  soldiers,"  said  the  ser- 
geant, "for  remember  we  are  following  a  soldier  to  his 
grave." 

And  look  like  soldiers  they  did  with  every  button  and 
bayonet  shining,  as  they  had  never  shone  for  battalion 
inspection. 

They  had  passed  through  an  experience  which  had  left 
them  dazed ;  they  had  marched  deliberately  into  the  mouth 
of  hell  and  had  come  back  stunned  by  what  they  had  seen 
and  heard,  incapable  of  emotion.  So  they  thought,  till 
they  learned  that  the  Pilot  had  been  killed.  Then  they 
knew  that  grief  was  still  possible  to  them.  With  their 
grief  mingled  a  kind  of  inexplicable  wrath  at  the  manner 
of  his  death. 

344 


"CARRY  ON"  345 

"If  it  had  been  the  O.  C.  now,  or  any  one  else  but  Fatty 
Matthews,"  said  Sergeant  Mackay  in  disgust,  expressing 
the  general  opinion.  "It  is  an  awful  waste." 

Under  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  leaning  out 
in  pity  and  appeal  over  the  shattered  city,  through  march- 
ing battalions  "going  in"  and  "coming  out,"  the  little 
pitiful  remnant  made  its  way,  the  band  leading,  the 
Brigade  and  Divisional  Headquarters  Staffs  bringing 
up  in  the  rear.  The  service  was  brief  and  simple,  a 
brother  chaplain  reading  at  the  major's  suggestion  the 
Psalm  which  Barry  had  read  at  his  last  Parade  Service 
with  the  battalion. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  the  divisional  com- 
mander stepped  forward  and  said, 

"May  I  offer  the  officers  and  men  of  this  battalion  my 
respectful  sympathy  with  them  in  the  loss  of  their  chap- 
lain ?  During  these  last  weeks,  I  had  come  to  know  him 
well.  Captain  Dunbar  was  a  chaplain  in  his  brigade.  He 
was  more.  He  was  a  gallant  officer,  a  brave  soldier,  a 
loyal-hearted  Canadian.  The  morale  of  this  division  is 
higher  to-day  because  he  has  been  with  us.  He  did  his 
duty  to  his  country,  to  his  comrades,  to  his  God.  What 
more  can  we  ask  than  this,  for  ourselves  and  for  our 
comrades  ?" 

Then  there  was  a  little  pause  and  Major  Bayne  began 
to  speak.  At  first  his  voice  was  husky  and  tremulous, 
but  as  he  went  on,  it  gathered  strength  and  clearness. 
He  reminded  them  how,  when  the  chaplain  came  to  them 
first,  they  did  not  understand  him,  nor  treat  him  quite 
fairly,  but  how  in  these  last  months,  he  had  carried  the 
confidence,  and  the  love,  of  every  officer  and  man  in  the 
battalion. 

"Were  the  Commanding  Officer  here  to-day,  he  would 
tell,  as  I  have  often  heard  him  tell,  how  greatly  the 
chaplain  had  contributed  to  the  discipline  and  to  the 
morale  of  this  battalion.  He  helped  us  all  to  be  better 
soldiers  and  better  men.  He  never  shrank  from  danger. 


346     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

He  never  faltered  in  duty.    He  lived  to  help  his  comrades 
and  to  save  a  comrade  he  gave  his  life  at  last." 

The  major  paused,  looked  round  upon  the  gallant 
remnant  of  a  once  splendid  battalion,  his  lips  quivering, 
his  eyes  running  over  with  tears.  But  he  pulled  himself 
together,  and  continued  with  steady  voice  to  the  end. 

"But  not  to  say  these  things  am  I  speaking  to  you  to- 
day. I  wish  only  to  give  you  this  last  message  from  our 
Sky  Pilot.  This  is  the  Pilot's  last  message:  'Tell  the 
boys  that  God  is  good,  and  when  they  are  afraid,  to  trust 
Him,  and  "carry  on."  And  for  myself,  men,  I  want  to 
say  that  he  was  the  only  man  that  showed  me  what  God 
is  like." 

In  that  company  of  men  who  had  looked  steadfastly 
into  the  face  of  death,  there  were  no  eyes  without  tears, 
many  of  them  were  openly  weeping. 

When  the  major  had  finished,  the  officers  present,  be- 
ginning with  the  divisional  commander,  came  and  stood 
at  the  head  of  the  open  grave  for  a  single  moment,  then 
silently  saluted  and  turned  away.  It  was  the  duty  of 
Bugler  Pat  McCann  to  sound  "The  Last  Post,"  but  poor 
Pat  was  too  overcome  with  his  sobbing  at  once  to  per- 
form this  last  duty.  Whereupon  the  runner  Pickles, 
standing  with  rigid,  stony  face  beside  his  chum,  took  the 
bugle  from  his  hands  and  there  sounded  forth  that  most 
beautiful  and  most  poignant  of  all  musical  sounds  known 
to  British  soldiers  the  world  over,  "The  Last  Post,"  end- 
ing with  that  last,  high,  long-drawn,  heart-piercing  note 
of  farewell. 

Then,  because  the  war  was  yet  to  be  won,  they  "car- 
ried on,"  the  battalion  marching  away  to  a  merry  tune. 

Beside  Barry's  grave  there  still  lingered  three  men, 
the  divisional  commander,  Major  Bayne,  and  Captain 
Neil. 

"I  am  thinking  of  that  little  girl  in  London,"  said  th 
divisional  commander,  and  for  the  first  time  his  voice 
broke.     The  others  waited,  looking  at  him.     "We  will 


"CARRY  ON"  347 

hold  back  this  news  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  I  think, 
major,  you  ought  to  go  and " 

"No,  general! — My  God,  no!  Don't  ask  me!"  The 
major  was  profoundly  agitated.  "Send  Neil,  here.  He 
knows  her  well,  and  his  wife  is  her  great  friend." 

"Very  well,  major,  I  think  that  will  be  better,"  said 
the  general  in  his  courteous,  gentle  voice.  "You  know 
her,  Captain  Fraser,  and  you  can  be  better  spared." 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Captain  Neil  telegraphed 
Paula  to  meet  him  at  Boulogne,  and  together  they  made 
the  journey  to  London,  carrying  with  them  sad  and  fear- 
ful hearts. 

They  found  Phyllis  in  a  little  flat  which  her  mother  had 
taken.  When  she  saw  them  her  face  went  white,  and 
her  hands  flew  to  her  bosom.  Speechless,  and  with  a 
great  fear  in  her  wide-open  brown  eyes,  she  stood  looking 
from  one  to  the  other,  waiting  for  their  message.  Paula 
went  to  her  and  without  a  word  put  her  arms  round  her, 
and  held  her  close. 

"I  know,  Paula,"  she  said,  putting  her  gently  away 
from  her.  "I  know  what  you  have  to  tell  me.  Barry 
is  dead.  My  dear  love  is  dead !"  Her  voice  was  tender, 
soft  and  low.  "Don't  fear  to  tell  me,  Neil,"  she  said. 
"See,  I  am  quite  steady."  She  put  out  her  hand  that  he 
might  see  that  there  was  no  tremour  in  it. 

"Sit  down,  darling,"  besought  Paula,  again  winding 
her  arms  about  her. 

"No,  no,  let  me  stand,  Paula  dear.  See,  I  am  quite 
strong.  Now  tell  me  about  it,  Neil — all  about  it.  You 
were  his  dear  friend,  you  know." 

Her  voice,  so  sweet,  so  soft,  so  perfectly  controlled, 
helped  Captain  Neil  with  his  task.  It  seemed  an  offence 
that  he  should  intrude  any  exhibition  of  grief  or  emo- 
tion upon  the  serene  calm  of  this  young  girl,  standing 
so  straight,  so  proud,  and  regarding  him  with  such  brave 
eyes. 

Then  Captain  Neil  told  his  tale.  He  began  with  the  last 
service  upon  the  Parade  Ground  before  the  battalion 


348     THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

moved  into  action.  He  told  of  Barry's  bitter  disap- 
pointment, and  of  their  relief  that  he  was  not  allowed 
to  accompany  them  to  the  front  line.  He  told  of  Barry's 
long  day  at  the  casualty  clearing  station,  and  of  his 
service  to  the  wounded,  and  of  how  good  the  divisional 
commander  had  been  to  him  that  night. 

"It  was  there  he  got  your  letter,  Phyllis." 

"Oh,  he  got  my  letter.  I'm  so  glad,"  whispered  the 
girl,  with  a  quick  breath  and  a  sudden  flushing  of  her 
pale  cheeks.  "He  knew!  He  knew!" 

"I  have  his  letter  in  reply  here,"  said  Captain  Neil, 
handing  it  to  her. 

She  took  it  in  both  her  hands,  kissed  it  tenderly,  as 
if  caressing  a  child,  and  put  it  in  her  bosom. 

"Please  go  on,"  she  said,  and  Captain  Neil  took  up  his 
tale  again.  He  told  how  the  major  tried  to  persuade 
him  not  to  go  out  after  the  wounded  that  night. 

"But,  of  course,  he  would  go,"  the  girl  said  with  a 
proud  little  smile,  at  which  Captain  Neil's  self-control 
quite  gave  way,  and  he  could  only  look  at  her  piteously 
through  his  tears. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said  gently.  "Can't  you  go 
on?  I  want  to  hear  so  much  every  bit,  but  if  you 
can't " 

At  which,  Captain  Neil  gripped  himself  hard  and  went 
on,  "and  so  he  went  out,  and  they  searched  the  trench 
from  end  to  end.  They  found  one  poor  chap,  whose 
leg  was  badly  smashed " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  they  found  him,"  whispered  Phyllis. 

"Then  Sergeant  Matthews  got  his  wound,  and  the 
shells  began  to  fall.  They  took  refuge  in  a  shell  hole, 
and  there,  while  covering  Fatty  Matthews  from  the 
breaking  shrapnel,  Barry  got  his  wound." 

Captain  Neil  was  forced  to  pause  again  in  the  recital  of 
his  story.  After  a  few  minutes,  he  told  of  how  they 
carried  him  to  his  grave,  and  laid  him  in  the  cemetery 
outside  the  city  of  Albert. 


"CARRY  ON"  3491 

"The  boys  were  all  there.  There  were  not  many  of 
them  left,"  he  said. 

"How  many?"  she  asked. 

"Seventy  only,  out  of  five  hundred  and  four  who  went 
over  the  parapet  two  nights  before." 

"Ah,  poor,  gallant  boys !  I  love  them,  I  love  them  all !" 
said  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands  together. 

"They  were  all  terribly  broken  up  as  they  stood  about 
the  grave,  and  no  wonder !  No  wonder !  Then  the  divi- 
sional commander  made  a  little  speech,  and  then  our 
own  major  gave  them  Barry's  last  message." 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  girl  gently,  as  Captain  Neil  paused. 

"It  was  this,"  said  Captain  Neil.  "  'Tell  the  boys  that 
God  is  good,  and  when  they  are  afraid,  to  trust  Him, 
and  "carry  on." 

"That  was  like  him,"  she  said.  "That  was  like  Barry  f 
Oh,  Paula,"  she  cried,  turning  to  her  friend.  "I'm  so 
happy!  It  was  a  beautiful  closing  to  a  beautiful  life. 
He  was  a  beautiful  boy,  Paula,  wasn't  he?  His  body 
was  beautiful,  his  soul  was  beautiful,  his  life  was  beauti- 
ful, and  the  ending,  oh,  was  beautiful.  Oh,  Paula,  God 
is  good.  I  am  so  glad  he  gave  Barry  to  me,  and  gave 
me  to  him.  Oh,  I'm  so — happy — so — happy."  Her 
voice  sank  into  a  whisper.  Then  after  a  few  moments 
of  silence,  with  a  little  piteous  cry,  she  suddenly  broke 
forth,  "But  Paula!  Paula!  he  is  gone.  I  shall  never  see 
him  again." 

Paula  held  her  arms  tightly  about  her,  sobbing  as  if 
her  own  heart  were  broken,  but  Phyllis  recovered  her- 
self quickly. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  softly,  as  if  counselling  her  own 
heart.  "I  must  remember.  'God  is  good,'  he  said,  and 
so,  Paula,  I  must  not  be  afraid.  God  was  good  to  him. 
He  will  be  good  to  me.  He  will  be  good  to  his  child." 
Her  voice  sank  again  into  a  whisper.  She  stood  silent 
with  eyes  looking  into  the  far  distance.  Then,  in  a 
clear,  firm  voice,  she  said,  "I  will  not  be  afraid!  God 
is  good !  I  will  'carry  on.'  " 


THE  S28RARY 

OF  CALBFQRflfc* 

ANGEUES 


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DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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